It was a Tuesday. For a few hours more at least. And aside from a singular black mark on a singular day, in all the history of the billions of Tuesdays that had come before- Nick had never really had all that much trouble with them. Had certainly not bothered to develop a healthy, self preserving fear the things.
He'd gone against the natural order of things and started taking day shifts a few years ago. Switched from the ER back to the nice calm radiology department. A decision that had made sense for the relationship that he'd been in at the time. She had worked normal, sane hours like a preschool teacher should. His change in schedule meant that they could see eachother more often. All good and logical choices when he'd made them, and for a good and logical woman, Nick had been willing to do that much.
Small sacrifices weren't enough to make big things work though, and lovely and forgiving woman that she was, she had reached a point of irreconcilable differences about three weeks ago. Even if half of her stuff was still in his house, she was gone, and the change was… it was unpleasant.
Nick didn't like change.
So even though he hated day shifts, he kept them for the time being. One less thing going on to ruffle his feathers. Sunshine and daytime troubles had become familiar enough of a landmark to keep him out of trouble.
More or less.
He'd scrubbed his hands and arms clean with the strong smelling hospital soap and changed from his scrubs into jeans and a tshirt, checking his phone awkwardly with one hand while he struggled to zip up his jacket. There was a voicemail from his younger brother.
A strange voicemail.
"Nick… there's a bit of a problem at your house. And by 'bit' I mean big… and by 'big' I mean tall… it's a tall problem." Gabriel sounded uneasy, even as he laughed uncomfortably. "Your problem, not mine. I'm postponing our Real Housewives marathon. Call me when you get your shit in order. I love you."
Short, very unspecific message, which probably meant that there was another big and gross looking spider on the ceiling. Last spider incident was a few nights back, and had seen Gabe stubbornly outside on the porch, in the rain, until Nick had been able to produce the spider's mangled corpse.
He wished that his brother had more grown up responses to bugs, or was at least slightly more responsible when it came to things like turning off the lights when he left Nick's house.
From the driveway, he could see what looked to be both the livingroom and kitchen lights still on. It didn't matter that it was kind of grey and overcast outside, it was still the middle of the damn day and his brother was a jerk.
Nick grumbled to himself, sending a snide text to Gabriel as he let himself in the house, tossing down his keys and kicking off his shoes… to see an unfamiliar set of boots sitting against the baseboard. Too big to be Gabe's. And Nick had no recollection of anyone coming over and leaving shoes at any point.
It was weird.
A little more than weird, but a little less than suspicious.
They were, after all, just a pair of worn work boots.
He shook his head and turned off the light, going down the hall with every intention of dumping his dirty work clothes into the wash. He didn't make it as far as the garage though, because the sight of the rather tall man sitting at his table was startling enough to make Nick stumble back out into the hall and drop his little duffle bag of clothes. It was not a helpful response. Not by miles. But he'd never claimed to be good in this flavor of emergency.
"Nick?" Came the concerned, and very familiar voice.
Nick knew that voice. Like rewatching a favorite movie that he hadn't seen since childhood. He knew that voice. And as he steeled himself and came back into the room, he realized that he knew that face too.
"You." Just like Nick knew that aching tightness in his chest, and the old embers of anger flickering back to life low in his gut. "You son of a bitch. Fucking get out of my house."
Sam smiled a tight smile, big awkward hands strangling one of Nick's coffee cups. "I'd sort of hoped that we could talk… there's more coffee in the kitchen… if you want."
What Nick wanted was to yell. He wanted to throw things. He wanted to storm over to that side of the room and take hold of Sam by his shaggy hair that had grown too long over the years, and slam his head down into the table top. He wanted to demand excuses as to why the hell he hadn't heard from or seen this man in years. He wanted to cry- in a masculine, restrained, frustrated kind of way.
But, coffee sounded good too.
He hung out in the kitchen longer than fully necessary. Taking his sweet, sweet time in making the perfect cup for himself, and fully avoiding the mess that waited in the other room for him, just out of the edge of his peripheral. He wasn't actually sure if Sam was still at the table- so firmly was Nick not looking that direction.
It was actually possible that Sam had never been there at all.
Just a bizarre daydream that Nick was having. As he'd done a few times before. Thinking he'd seen Sam in a crowd, thinking that he'd heard his voice. Stupid things.
Though none as stupid, or pitiful, as a full blown hallucination of the man making him coffee. That might be a little far fetched.
"I met a ghost a few years back." He told the milk as he poured some into his coffee. "Teen boy came into the ER after a bike accident. The paramedics that brought him in had done the best they could, but they couldn't stabilize him and he died before we could get him into surgery. The body got picked up a few hours later- but that kid, he hung around the hospital for weeks." He sipped on his coffee, testing the temperature hesitantly, waiting for some kind of response from the other room. None came, so Nick kept continued, "are you a ghost too, Sam?"
A sonata of silence came from the other room, before finally a very soft answer of " 'm not a ghost."
Carefully, Nick put the milk back in the fridge, focusing very hard on finding an island of calm deep inside himself. "Sorry to hear that, Sam- because you being dead is the only good reason I have ever been able come up with as to why it's been over five years since you you've said so much as boo to me."
It was strange to hear so much apology crammed into a singular syllable, "Nick,"
"Five fucking years, Sam!" No. He was having none of it. Nick was rapidly being pulled far, far from anything at all like calm. "If it was a one night stand, then good. Great. But you had no right to make like it was anything else- and you sure as shit don't get to just come back around when you feel like it. Do you have any idea how much you- you,"
And Nick felt sick. Way too vulnerable suddenly, because he'd scratched open an old wound that he'd never intended to air. To his credit though, he did not panic. No. Not Nick. He just swallowed it all down from where it came from. Where it had been dormant for years, and he prayed that it settled back down.
He set his mug on the counter so he wouldn't do anything foolish with it. Slowly turning to face the table and the man that was still sitting there.
"So, not dead. Not a ghost." Slow even breaths did wonders for Nick. "Not really sure what the hell you're doing here."
Sam looked deep into his own coffee cup and slowly shook his head. Apparently he didn't know either.
"This is when you start apologise." Nick instructed. "I remember you were always real good at apologizing. So go for it. Tell me how you meant to call. How you picked up your phone a hundred times but just never could bring yourself to dial my number. Tell me all about how a week after you left, when your phone number got disconnected so I wasn't able to call you either. Oh, and then tell me the one about how you forgot where the whole damn state of Texas was up until today."
"If it's any consolation at all," Sam spoke so softly, like you would to a jumpy looking wild animal. "I was dead for a few days."
This was of no consolation to anyone.
"A few days is a far cry from half a decade." Nick wasn't sure why he was holding his elbows, arms crossed tight over his stomach, except it gave his hands and arms something to do.
"Dean said it was about a week." And Sam continued, somehow shrugging his claim off as easy as you would if you were saying that you'd had a touch of the flu. "But we know a guy… an Angel named Cas, and he pulled some strings. Made some deals. Brought me back."
Over the years, and in the face of some colossal strangeness, Nick had learned to believe in a lot of things. He chose to pass on buying into this one though. Lines had to be drawn somewhere. It must have shown on his face, because Sam sighed, frowning and looking away.
Nick didn't want to hear these excuses.
Some years back he'd come to terms with the fact that there was very little difference between Sam and the two men that had come before him. Nick considered himself a comfortable two or three a sliding sexuality scale. He was on the straighter side of things, but depending on the day and the person he'd been happy to make exceptions. And damn it all if he didn't exclusively pick the worst men. It was as if he instinctually set his heart on the ones that would do the most damage to him.
Unfortunately though, Sam had been the worst of the three. Because it hadn't been just sex. Sex made up a negligible percentage of their time together- and hadn't really factored into the how and why he'd been missed. They'd been borderline friends. Nick had actually really enjoyed being around Sam. This terrible man haunting his table had made him genuinely happy. In a frustrated, manic sort of way.
And all things considered, it had been a hell of a lot harder to get over someone like that.
"Well, that's great. Glad we could catch up." Shakily, Nick hefted his coffee off the counter and sipped because it gave his mind time to think while his mouth was nice and occupied. It didn't seem to help much though, because the next words out of his mouth surely didn't sound well thought out. "Maybe we can do it again in another five years. You'll let yourself out- you remember where the door is, right?"
Sam was frowning. Sam was very good at frowning. He seemed more frustrated than hurt, if that meant anything. "I know it doesn't count for much now, Nick. But I died, in a really stupid way, right after I left here. And what my brother and Cas managed to bring back of me wasn't good for much else other than hunting. Certainly wasn't anyone that I would have wanted anywhere near you. You're a good person, and for about a year I was a soulless bastard." He sipped a bit of his own coffee. It seemed like his cup was practically empty, but maybe he too needed a bit of time to collect himself. "I don't mean that figuratively, Nick. My soul was in hell for nearly a whole year. And I did a lot of things I'm not proud of without my conscious to keep me on the right track. I was… I was a real mess when they finally put me back together the right way. And I'm not going to lie. I didn't even think about you most days. I was too busy just trying to cope with all that had happened."
Nick hadn't wanted to believe this lunatic tale. And part of him still very firmly was clinging to the saner side of his thoughts. But he realized that it didn't matter if he fully believed this story being fed to him- because whatever happened to Sam had obviously taken quite a large chunk out of him. Something not easy to replace or repair.
All better, and bitter intentions aside, Nick really wasn't sure what to offer.
"By the time I'd got my head straight it had already been so long since I'd seen you… and I knew that coming back would… it would be a lot like this." And Sam got the smallest smile. A shallow memory of one of his old grins. It looked different on him now that his face had filled out. He'd lost those softer edges of youth and settled into a more rugged, rough sort of jaw line. It went nicely with what had to be a week's worth of stubble. His eyes still gentle, his hair a mess. Skin paler than normal. And not just because it was the tale end of winter-
For the first time Nick actually really looked at Sam. Not as the Sam that he'd known come back to torment him, but as this man right here sitting at his table.
"Oh god- you're hurt again, aren't you?"
"Just a little. Yeah." Sam's smile seemed strained the longer he wore it.
"For fuck's sake." Nick put down his coffee and came over. "You bastard. Why didn't you say so?"
"You were yelling at me, and I deserved it… so I figured that the whole bleeding thing could wait a bit."
"I hate you so much."
"I know," Sam set his own cup aside and held his arms out wide for inspection.
"I know you know." He rounded the table and missed a step. "Shit,"
The part of Sam that had been below the table's edge as not well. His tshirt and flannel dark and plastered to his stomach. "It's just a little stab wound this time around. The knife went clean through."
The idea somewhat horrified Nick. "How big was this knife?"
"Just regular stabbing knife sized?" Sam didn't seem nearly as bothered by this as he should be. "It was just very off to one side."
"Why do you do this to me?" He wasn't really expecting an answer. "Just get up. Come on,"
Sam lowered his inviting arms. "Not really sure if I can."
More of those slow, even breaths as Nick took a knee. "Of course you can't. Why would you ever make things easier for me?" Without waiting for permission, he just peeled up the offending shirt, and despite what he was expecting to see- he found himself laughing. "Is this actually duct tape?"
"I needed something to stop the bleeding."
Crouching down here on the floor meant that Nick had to glare upwards. "How long did you plan on sitting in my diningroom held together with only duct tape and bad ideas?"
"It wasn't my first choice- but it's all I had in the car."
That gave Nick some pause. "I didn't see your car."
"I put it in the garage."
He was going to regret asking. He knew that he would. But still he pressed on, "my garage?"
"I didn't want to worry your neighbors… with the blood all over the car and everything." Sam shrugged a single shoulder. "Not my blood all over the outside of the car, if that helps?"
"There is nothing at all that you can tell me that is going to help right now. Alright?" He settled the bottom of Sam's shirt somewhere up around his ribs, giving a clear view of his shoddy first aid skills. There was more tape on Sam's back. Nick found it difficult to resist the urge to poke at it. "Seriously though, I need you laying down before I get this tape off and look at the damage."
Sam wisely resisted the urge to comment on the fact that Nick needed him, laying down or in any other position. Instead he braced himself on the edge of the table and pulled himself upright, looking only slightly woozy. "Ok. Up. How far are we going?"
"Just the table. Just lay down." Nick was suddenly very worried with the notion that if Sam lost his footing he'd be nearly impossible to catch. "It's not ideal, but it's kind of symmetrical in a poetic sort of way?"
"Symmetrical?" Sam grunted as he sat down, swinging his long, long legs up onto the table and awkwardly laying back.
"It's how we met, isn't it?" Nick took off his jacket, tossing it over one of the chairs. "If it's all the same, you can skip the punching me in the jaw part of it though." Cautiously he started to peel back the tape, and found himself laughing again. "Oh, now here you had me all worried. They barely scratched you this time."
It was such a small injury. If it had been only an inch to the left it would have been a graze instead of an actual hole. Angry dark red gash in the curve of his oblique. Still must have hurt like hell. Definitely had bled with some enthusiasm, and seemed quite happy to resume it now that the tape was out of the way.
"Keep pressure here," Nick took one of Sam's hands, holding it very firmly over the wound. "Lucky for you, years and years ago I was still holding out hope that you'd just show up one day out of the blue, and I stocked up accordingly." Out in the garage, tucked back in the liquor cabinet beside the bourbon, was a first aid kit with Sam's name on it. Quite literally. Though his name had been scribbled over so that it now read 'in case of jackassery'... the meaning remained unchanged.
Small stitches.
Lots of gauze.
Then Sam rolled over and Nick started the same song and dance on the other side of him.
It was a good time to not talk to each other.
They'd been doing it for so many years, it sort of felt natural.
Sam stayed laying on his stomach, arms folded up under his chin like a pillow as he watched Nick sideways over a shoulder. He grunted softly as the stitches went into his back, and the corners of his eyes were tight, but otherwise he could have passed for someone who was comfortably enjoying himself.
If Nick had been a nicer person, or someone not still dragging himself through a hell of a lot of half remembered heartache, he would have been more gentle about the process. But there was no tenderness in his work. Just tight efficient stitches before he taped another square of gauze down… and very firmly patted his handiwork.
Which got a very surprised, very sharp sound out of Sam.
"It's actually kind of impressive, considering how you live, that it's taken you this long to get this badly hurt again." Nick chose not to comment directly on the twilight colored bruising over Sam's ribs that probably meant something was near broken or worse.
For a few seconds Sam just stared him down, possibly not amused at having his knife wound slapped, but he rolled his shoulders and looked off at the wall. "I've actually been shot a few times, stabbed I don't know how many, arm broken twice, nose once, few fingers and toes- but we've got a friend who travels with us sometimes, the Angel I mentioned, and he's been fixing us up."
"And he didn't feel like it this time?" For whatever crazy reason, Nick realised he was jealous that someone else out there had been doctoring his Sam.
Nope.
Not his Sam.
Never had been his Sam.
It was an important thing to remember.
"He, uh, sort of lost his Angel mojo. So he's just regular off the shelf, generic hman now. That's actually why Dean isn't here. He's off helping Cas out with something up in Idaho."
More information than Nick needed. And none of it really meant anything to him. It was all just words that didn't land anywhere significant. He wasn't honestly sure that he believed in Angels. Certainly didn't feel like changing his personal theological standing just because of Sam's sayso. But that wasn't the part that was important here.
Nick busied his hands with picking up the small medical mess, bideing his time because he didn't want to ask the question at the forefront of his mind- but ne needed to know. "Sam, did you come back here because you were hurt... or did you get hurt on your way here?" And whatever answer there might be to that felt far more than it had any right to be.
It took Sam longer than it should have to reply. "I was on a hunt up in Sweetwater," but at least he was honest.
Nick just nodded and went to the kitchen to go clean himself up, mumbling, "fucking coward," under his breath. He didn't know if Sam heard him, and he didn't care. He scrubbed blood from his hands, making sure to get under his nails and just really gave himself over to the task, because otherwise he'd be too tempted to dwell on the fact that all that old anger roiling around in his chest had started to hurt something fierce.
"Your brother…" Sam seemed to be searching for something to say, not able to handle the overwhelming quiet. "He got out of here in a big hurry after he let me in."
"He's a bit scared of you- seeing as you're twice his height and all." And the fact that Sam had been bleeding definitely wouldn't have helped. Nick sighed, turning off the tap and drying his hands on his pants. "I'm sure he didn't go far. He's probably out getting himself something to eat and waiting for me to text him that you're gone and it's safe… he'll be back soon. Even if I don't call him. He's been staying here pretty regularly since the divorce."
"Oh," Sam sort of trailed off, still laying there on the table, watching Nick moving around in the other room with a closed expression on his face. "I didn't know he was married."
"He wasn't." Nick found his coffee cup. "I was."
"Oh," came the same response, but much, much quieter this time.
The coffee had gotten cold and Nick didn't want it anymore.
He didn't want anything right now, other than to maybe crawl into bed and just shut out the world.
"I guess that explains the sudden art on the walls and the decorative pillows on the couch," Sam said after what seemed like much thought. "I was sort of wondering about that."
That dull ache was turning into something worse the longer Nick stared into his mug. "Yeah… she didn't take a lot of stuff with her when she left."
"I'm sorry, man,"
"Shut the hell up." Nick managed without much venom. "You left and you didn't come back. You lost the option to comment on my life."
"I'm here now, aren't I?"
"You're only here because you needed a doctor and the hospitals would have asked too many questions."
It may have been truth, but it didn't set well with Sam. He slowly rolled himself over and sat up with only a small wince. "Nick,"
"Don't even start with me. The only reason I haven't chucked my mug at you is that it's one of my favorites and I'd be upset if I broke it on your big dumb face."
With some care, Sam tugged his ruined shirts back into place, settling the stained cloth gingerly over his bandages. Frowning in concentration and for lack of a comeback.
"Couch or table. It's your choice, big boy." The nickname felt alien to Nick's mouth, but he shook it off. Dumping his undrinkable coffee down the sink. "You can stay a day or so, until you're well enough to clean the blood off your car. Then you can get the hell out."
Startled, Sam looked up from his clothes to blink wildly at Nick.
"I don't fucking care anymore. I can't. Ok? Just rest, go drink some water. And try not to make yourself any worse or I'll yell at you again." That's all he had to say. It was all that Nick really had left at this point. Just the smallest offer of sanctuary- the pathologica caregiver deep within him winning out by an important margin. But he couldn't stay. He couldn't just stand here talking to Sam for a second more.
The backyard was welcoming. It was quiet. Nice cloud cover that threatened rain before night fall. Most importantly, there was no one else out here. Nick set himself down on the porch swing, and instantly had regrets that he was still shoeless and wearing only a tshirt. It wasn't cold per se, but given enough time and he'd have to head back in to seek some warmth.
Except, after about an hour, round the time that Nick had calmed down enough to consider actually going inside- he heard the back door open.
"It's cold out here." Sam's voice was so careful- and then he set Nick's jacket down on the arm of the swing.
It was such an unnecessarily thoughtful gesture.
Deliberate and intentional and downright uncalled for, considering all that there was to consider.
Still, Nick took the jacket, pulling it on and pointedly watching the back fence. "Sit down, you bastard. You shouldn't be up and walking around." And somewhere behind him, he could hear the other man shuffle awkwardly without making any progress in any particular direction. "Sit." Nick commanded more firmly, in his best serious doctor voice, as he knocked his knuckles on the slats of wood to his left.
Hesitantly, Sam followed the order, sitting on his side of the bench like he expected the thing to collapse and kill him any second now. "This is new."
"My older brother made it. It was a wedding present a few years ago." Nick pressed the balls of his feet into the old wood of the porch and rocked them back and forth a few inches.
"It's nice."
"You suck at small talk." Nick felt a need to point out the obvious.
Sam's shrug was meaningless. "I needed to say something."
"No." Nick's breath caught in his throat for a second, making an odd little noise as he swallowed. "It's really in your best interest not to say anything to me for a while."
Apparently he could do that. Easy directions to follow, and Sam lapsed into a healthy silence. His equally bare feet dragging slightly now and then as he half heartedly helped Nick keep the gentle momentum of the swing going.
The situation would have been significantly more restful if the air didn't now smell like Sam, and blood, and damp pavement. The sky had finally opened, and gentle rain had started to patter down, but the the porch overhang kept them dry so there was no need to retreat.
Well… there were needs. But they had nothing to do with the rain.
Nick knew himself- either well enough to acknowledge that he was a coward, or that the anger he was still clinging to after so many years would be too volatile if he gave it voice. Either way, he wasn't allowed to turn his head to look at the man beside him. Just like talking wasn't really an option that he could safely pursue. So he swung slowly, doing his best to memorise the way that the rain made the leaves on the trees jump from time to time.
With all that quiet going on between them, it was hard to ignore the fact that Sam was sitting too close. Closer than was polite. Barely inches between them- and yet nearly two feet of empty, usable space on Sam's far side. His proximity as deliberate as his choice to bring Nick's jacket out to him.
He wanted something. Something more than just to get a handful of stitches.
Problem was, Nick didn't know what the man could possible want from him at this point. They'd run the full gamut of their friendship, as well as their friends with benifits-ship.
Facts that would be a lot easier to acknowledge if Nick hadn't missed Sam so damn much for so long. In a weird way, he still missed him. Missed the man sitting there next to him with his long legs and his oversized hands folded so carefully in his lap as he watched the flickers of distant lightning on the horizon.
With convictions that he wasn't sure he had, Nick let his left leg fall a little wide, heel digging into the porch. Knee resting against Sam's. Quietly, he kept the contact.
Quiet, quiet, quiet.
They could both do it.
They could both silently pretend that they were still miles and miles apart. Not even a blip on one another's radar. They were still separately living their lives with no intention for their paths to ever cross again.
And for someone who had very pointedly refused to think about this man here for years, it pained Nick to acknowledge that right now he could really, really use a friend. But did it have to be this friend? This man? This son of a bitch who apparently could figure out how to come back to life, but couldn't figure out how to pick up a damn phone like he'd promised.
Maybe if Nick hadn't gotten divorce paperwork in the mail last week he'd be feeling a bit stronger and more capable of coping with these awful feelings he was wading through.
It was possible that if it was anyone other than Sam beside him, that Nick would be able to keep on swallowing everything down. Only, it was Sam, so any alternative outcome was overridden by too much history that was too hard to push aside.
"You don't get to talk."Nick started by making a point to remind Sam.
The younger man looked at him like he'd only just realised he wasn't alone on the bench. "Ok?"
Nick sighed in frustration. "Did I stutter? No. So keep that purdy mouth of your shut for once, and fucking scoot down. You're crowding me."
With a half hidden smile, Sam made a zipping motion over his lips, before tossing an imaginary key out onto the lawn. He inched away, making some well needed breathing room between them.
"You would not believe the day I've been having." Nick sighed, letting his head fall back, doing what he could to mask the effort to stretch and keep his knee against Sam's. "Granted, your day promises to have been a hell of a lot more exciting than mine. But still. I'd bet cash that mine would still win. And all that credit can't go straight to you. So don't get all proud about it or anything. I was already hovering around a solid eight out of ten on the stress scale- but you did sort of push things to an eleven."
Playing the good boy that they both knew he wasn't, Sam didn't comment on that particular claim.
And in a bid for worst plan that he'd had in years, Nick repositioned himself, turning and tucking his knees up onto the bench so that he'd fit when he laid back with his head resting on Sam's thigh.
There were probably a million reasons why he should not be instigating this level of physical contact- and not a single solitary reason he could think of to rationalise his own actions. Nick accepted it all with a soft sigh as he closed his eyes, settled in and began rambling on as if Sam's lap were a therapist's couch.
"It's been really nice weather the past few weeks, but it looked like rain this morning when I was getting ready. So I went to go find my jacket and realised that Anna had left all her winter things in the closet. She took the damn dog with her when she left, but I swear she forgot everything else. So I'm standing there in the hall, losing a staring contest with a little blue peacoat, and I think to myself that today is going to be complete shit- but at least the bar had been set and surely it wasn't going to get any worse. Then I get to work and the MRI machine is down, but no one bothered to start reschedualing all the patients, so I got to make about twenty calls to about twenty pissed off people. Then the coffee machine on our floor was broken. And then I have to come home to the unexpected return of the worse one night stand I've ever had, bleeding all over my house."
It was Sam's turn to sigh, his quiet form of protest to the accusation.
Nick resisted the urge to open his eyes and look up. He would much rather settle into the warmth that the other man had to offer. "Don't deny it. It was a single night of amazing sex, and then you left, and then you never called after promising you would. That is the very definition of a bad one night stand. Only way it could have been worse is if I'd caught something from you."
One of Sam's hands lightly thumped the top of Nick's head in a way that didn't hurt, but still voiced his disapproval in a silent kind of way.
"I will say that you are not an easy fling to get over- not easy, but not impossible. I licked my wounds and I moved on years ago. You had your reasons for going, and not calling, or ever coming back except when you needed something from me, you bastard… but we're both adults and you don't owe me an apology. I knew what you were when I picked you up- and I choose to take the highroad on this one and move on peacefully."
Sam thumped his head a second time, but this time his hand stayed in Nick's hair. Fingers curling so carefully.
"It felt really nice to yell at you though. Vent a little of that endless well of 'I hate my life and all the terrible choices that I've made that brought me to here and now'. It's healthy. I think punching you would also do me some good. Might hurt my hand, but I bet it would do wonders for my everything else."
"If you think it will help?" Sam offered so softly.
Nick slitted his eyes, glaring awkwardly upward for the second time today. "What did I say about you talking? Here I am, trying to achieve some kind of fucking zen, and you just keep opening that mouth of yours. Do you have any idea what sort of terrible pavlovian response I get to you taking?"
Wisely, Sam didn't say 'no', he just shook his head.
"So kindly keep it down up there, or I will trade in my free sucker punch for poking you right in the stitches. I'll do it. I swear I will. Hippocratic oath be damned."
Sam shushed him. A soft little sound as his hand moved from Nick's hair. One finger pressing down lightly to the center of Nick's lips. His hands smelled like gunpowder and blood. They partook in some very heavy eye contact for a breath, and then the younger man settled himself in, head falling back as he watched the sky. His hand returned to Nick's hair, fingers slowly tracing patterns along his scalp. So calm and comfortable and easy.
It would have been a shame to shake the younger man off. Especially seeing as he was being so darn brave in light of Nick's threats. So Nick suffered through the very gentle petting, letting his mind drift and the tension he'd been harboring in his shoulders to ease.
The rain grew worse. The lightning got close enough that each bolt lit up the backyard, and the rolling thunder made the windows rattle.
Nick could feel the rumbling in his chest and taste the ozone on the tip of his tongue. Storms like these made their way through this part of the state every spring and summer. There was something soothing about them, familiar, clean.
"Should we head back in?" Sam ruined the peace.
"Seriously?" Nick focused slowly, "you just keep talking."
"It's almost like I either don't consider your threats all that threatening, or maybe I just have my doubts about the safety of being outside during a lightning storm."
"Pansy," Nick rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his stomach, firmly refusing to be moved.
"You do know that you've now got dried blood in your hair, right?"
Considering that Sam had come out of the house still wearing his bloodied clothes, and Nick was using him as a pillow, this fact was not actually surprising. Disappointing, yes. But surprising, no.
Nick watched Sam watching him, and wondered if there was any good way to get out of the strange position that he'd gotten himself into without clearly announcing to the world that he'd willingly put himself into it in the first place . So he deflected. "What were you hunting up in Sweetwater?"
"Demons." Was the simple answer, and oddly no further details were offered.
"Anything else hurt on ya' enough that I need to worry?"
Sam took the time to actually think about that one before shaking his head. "Just a few bruises this time."
Which was good news, and Nick had nothing else to offer other than a slightly sympathetic nod.
The rain kept up its side of the conversation. Filling the space when the men had very rapidly run out of words.
Seemingly at a loss for a better choice of action, Sam slid his index finger down the length of Nick's nose before lightly poking him.
And Nick was not amused.
Though as Sam slowly traced his fingers up over Nick's cheek bones and along the edge of his jaw, it was hard not to smile. A few hours ago, even suggesting that he let the younger man touch him would have resulted in a punch to the face. Things had settled a bit in Nick though. The patterning of the rain more than anything else quieting down so much of the old anger that had resurfaced.
Five years is a long time.
A damn long time.
But Nick was no longer the same self deprecating, mess of a man that Sam had kissed and quit years back. He was broken and beaten down in whole new and exciting ways now. All the old holes patched and painted over so as not to distract from the fresh new troubles.
At least that is how Nick chose to see himself, though if he was being wholly honest it was rather obvious that even if he was calling the songs by new names, the melodies were still very much the same.
Seeming to just notice for the first time, Sam's fingers slowed their careful path and hesitated in something almost like surprise. "You got old."
"I got old?" Nick snorted softly. "First off, I look damn good on days less shitty than this one. Second, have you looked at yourself recently? You've got to be at least ten years older than last time I saw you. You've got enough stubble for at least three grizzled mountain men. And what the hell is going on with your hair? You look like you play the bass in some new wave, lumberjack, hipster band."
Sam laughed.
Laughed so happy and free for just a moment.
But it seemed that the storm didn't care for the competition and the next flash of lightning tore through the sky right above the house, Car alarms started going off out on the street, and there was a strange, light burning smell.
"Fuck Texas, and fuck lightning storms." Sam hissed almost reverently, eyes just a touch too wide.
"You watch your mouth, boy." Nick slowly sat up, drawing his knees to his chest in an effort to fit on the bench while still sitting the wrong way. "Don't you dare take the name of Texas in vain."
"Or what?" Sam asked in a low voice behind Nick.
"Don't think that just because I let you get all mister big hands with me a few seconds ago, that I am interested in putting up with any of your nonsense. Not anymore today than last time you were here. Got it?"
"Yes, sir."
"And don't you 'yes, sir' me. You've had me on my back, and on my knees, and you even wore one of my legs like a hat at some point. We're way past the 'sir' point." He glanced over his shoulder at the man sitting behind him, and something in his gut clenched.
Sam was still watching the rain fall through the trees, great grey sheets coming down and obscuring most of the world beyond the edge of the fence. But he was smiling. An odd kind of smile, so warm, and so slightly crooked.
"I missed you." Sam told the backyard, even as his hand closest to Nick lightly touched the sleeve of his jacket. "Your prickliness, and your aggressive smiles, and your 'fuck you' attitude."
Nick frowned, not sure at all what that was supposed to mean.
"There's something reassuring about the fact that you're still you after all this time."
"Who else would I be?"
Sam glanced his way and still had that damnable smile, just a hint of his siren call dimples showing. "I didn't know. People change."
"Change is for quitters." He felt an answering smile creeping along the edges of his mouth. "And I may be many things, but quitter I am not."
Sam shook his head, laughing with soft little huffs of breath before looking back out at the yard and asking so softly, "Nick... how hard would you hit me if I tried to kiss you?"
As unexpected questions went, that was definitely an option.
"About as hard as I fucking can, I'd think." Nick stood, finding his balance after too long of reclining. Yes, putting so much sudden room between them was as sudden as it was guilty looking, and Nick did not give a good god damn- because that was a dangerous situation that he was responsibly avoiding it. Deep breath and he looked back at Sam, "Someone did some lousy target practice on you today and you need to rest. Come on. There's a couch inside with your name on it."
"What happened to the extra bedroom?" The man was still swinging slowly, and still smiling like he had a secret.
"Anna turned it into an office." Nick dug his hands into his pockets, really feeling the cold now that he wasn't leaning on a human shaped radiator. "So, I mean… if you want to sleep on a computer chair, be my guest? But you'll probably be more comfortable on the couch." Nick knew that Sam was too tall. Far too tall to fit those long legs of his easily on the average sized sofa. But it didn't matter. Their usual standing offer of sharing a sleeping space was no longer something that Nick was able to give.
Sam didn't ask though. Either he didn't want to, or he knew when not to push.
The man, who Nick would swear got taller every time they met, followed him inside. Into the rather dark inside of the house. And at first, Nick assumed that Sam had just turned the lights out when he'd come to join him, but flicking the light switch on the wall proved that that was not the case.
"Power's out." He mumbled and scuffed his bare feet against the hall carpet in an effort to warm them up a bit. "Happens sometimes during storms. Should be back in a few hours."
"So…" Sam kept a hand on the wall as he made his way gingerly towards the front room, "until then we sit in the dark and tell campfire stories?"
"mmm, I suppose that all depends on if you know any good stories?"
As it turned out, Sam had some pretty damn good stories.
Almost every single one of them involved some terrible nightmare of a monster, or at very least some poor soul making choices so bad that even Nick had to shake his head in sympathy.
They tucked up on the couch. Sharing it while still being about as far apart as two people can be while on the same piece of furniture. Sam's day must have been wearing on him, and he spoke hardly loud enough to be heard over the rain, reclining with his feet up on the coffee table like he lived here. Nick would have told him to knock it off- except it would have interrupted the flow of one story to the next.
Up until that night, Nick had had no indication as to how well horror stories went with beer and ice cream. But with the power out, and half a pint of ice cream endangered of melting into a puddle, he considered it his solemn duty to share the carton with the other man.
Sam seemed to favor beer over ice cream- didn't have much of a sweet tooth apparently. And honest, neither did Nick. But Gabriel did. And it was his ice cream that they were eating while the little weasel was out of the house. So it tasted sort of amazing in a 'spoils of war' kind of way. Wholly worth it, even if it was pistachio flavored.
"And that is why," Sam concluded without much hint of a smile, despite the fact that his story had contained actual gnomes, "you never go camping in the Ozarks in the fall."
Nick shook his head, licking the last bit of ice cream from his spoon, kind of loving- but also fairly concerned by the way that Sam was watching him. "See now, have you ever considered that, with the culmination of all your life experience, that perhaps an early retirement might be a good idea?"
"And do what with myself?"
"Well, not get hog tied by someone's lawn ornaments and dragged off into the night, for a start."
"Can't say it was my favorite… but I'm really, really bad at pretending to be normal at this point. I wouldn't know how to settle down." And he smiled one of those smiles of his. One that would have lit up the room if it wasn't nearly too damn dark to see him. "And I like knowing that I'm doing right in the world. I help people."
"So to do tax accountants." Nick pointed out.
"Smart ass." Sam said with so much affection. Shaking his head he started to get up, wincing slightly as he got both feet on the floor and slowly stood.
"Where the hell are you going?"
"To get some water." He said so simply. No hint of subterfuge. "My throat's dry and beer really isn't helping."
Frustrated, Nick got up too. "Sit your ass down. I'll get you some damn water." Which he should have done before they sat down, but he was too busy doing his best not to think about Sam to think about Sam's possible needs. He came back wit the biggest glass of water that he could manage and set it down beside the man. "For your delicate throat. Drink up. Try to rest. And I'm going to go get a shower."
Sam held his water without drinking any, "Shower? ...but the power is out..."
"There should be enough hot water sitting in the tank for one shower. And I've earned myself a shower." He held his arms out to show the blood on his sleeves, then gestured with wide hands to the mess that he knew must be in his hair.
In an almost comical sort of way looked down at his own clothes and the blood dried all over himself, like an extra in a cheap horror movie. "One shower?"
"Don't worry. I'll enjoy it enough for two people." Overly pleased with himself, Nick sauntered down the hall. He made it as far as his room before the guilt set in. The lonely part of him that he'd tucked deep down and forgotten years and years ago told him to let Sam be miserable and uncomfortable, because he had earned it. But the doctor part of Nick, that part was much louder.
Knowing his might very much regret it, Nick leaned out into the hall, and made sure to talk in his most flat and uninterested voice. "But, if in my enthusiasm to get cleaned, should I forget to lock the bathroom door, and should you feel a need to get in on this whole 'washing your blood off of us' thing, please remember that you should try to not get your stitches wet."
He couldn't see where Sam was sitting on the couch, so Nick had no idea how his invitation was received. The other man certainly didn't say anything. But that was neither a good sign or a bad one. Determined not to let something small and potentially worrisome as that get to him, Nick grabbed some clean clothes and went into his bathroom
The power had gone out with almost every storm since Christmas, and Nick had learned to be prepared. He had a little camping lantern that sat nicely on the small bathroom counter, casting odd shadows- but it was plenty enough to see by.
What he intended to be a fast shower got oddly waylaid. He got as far as scrubbing shampoo through his short hair, warm-ish water running over his back, when he heard the sound of the bedroom door opening. He cracked one eye, and was perhaps a bit overly startled to see the shape of Sam had actually made it all the way into the small bathroom. Moving so carefully. Hand to his side.
"Didn't think that you'd actually take me up on it." Nick said half to himself as he ducked his head under the spray to get the soap off his face.
"The blood I can deal with." Sam said thickly. Sounding like the tired was reall starting to catch up with him. "It's the smell that was starting to get to me. Demons just… it's a very specific smell. I never liked it."
"What I can't figure is why when you got to my house, you didn't go straight away for the washing off. You just sat at my table… like the creepy lurker that we both know you are."
Through the frosted glass of the shower door, Nick could see the other man very gingerly struggling out of his overshirt.
"I knew that one of the few things that you like less than finding me in your house uninvited was going to be finding me naked in your shower, in your house, uninvited." Sam hissed through his teeth as he attempted to free himself from the ruins of his tshirt.
Nick couldn't help himself, wished that he could but knew that he was utterly hopeless, as he popped the shower door open and stuck his head out. "You doing ok?"
It was hard to prove anything in awful yellow light, but the bruising that he'd seen earlier on the lower parts of Sam's ribs looked to creep all the way up his chest and over a shoulder.
"Were you… hit with a car this time?" Nick struggled to place where he knew that kind of patterning from.
"A cow." Sam seemed to be having a hard time getting his arms high enough to pull the shirt over his head.
And as much fun as it was to watch the man fighting with his clothes, Nick could only do it for so long. He turned off the shower and, dripping water all over the floor he went to the medicine cabinet and found the small pair of scissors. "A cow?" Carefully cutting the shirt from Sam, neck to navel. "Did it get a running start?"
Sam accepted the help in the same way he always did with Nick. So easy, no fighting. Just quiet acceptance that he was going to get taken care of. "No. I was very actually hit with a cow. A dead one. Demon picked it up and threw it at me."
It oddly wasn't the most ridiculous thing that he'd ever told Nick.
With a sigh, he set the scissors on the counter sighed, tossing the remnants of the shirt into the trash bin. "Maybe not a tax accountant, but there are other safer jobs than this. Like maybe a crash test dummy."
"I'll consider your recommendation, doc." Sam pulled a towel off the rack and handed it to Nick. "Did you leave enough hot water for me?"
"Warm water." Nick wrapped the towel around his waist in a vague attempt at modesty. "Remember not to get your stitches wet."
Sam looked down at his gauzed side, then at the waiting shower, and a plan seemed to be forming in his head- but Nick interrupted with the very important question of "can you even turn enough to reach your back?"
"My back?"
"There's just as much blood back there." Nick pointed out.
"Oh…" Sam sighed, and it was obvious by the slump of his big, bruised shoulders, that he didn't have much left in him to deal with today.
Nick took one of those deep, cleansing breaths that always helped him in times like this. "Are you ok to stand at least?"
"Yes?"
"Good." Nick grabbed the washcloth from the shower and turned on the sink. "Just park that ass of yours on the edge of the counter."
With a tiny nod, the man let himself slump against the little corner where the bathroom counter met the wall. Then he held a hand out to Nick, seeming to think that he was going to be allowed to handle this cleaning thing all on his own. He was wrong though.
Nick mentally slipped back to his pre med days, quietly scrubbing the blood from Sam, being mindful of all those mottled blue and purple marks. The washrag came away so dark, and the water in the sink ran a sickly pink color the first few times Nick rinsed it out. "You know, I don't think that there has been a single time that you've shoved your way into my life where you havn't made things more complicated, one way or another."
"I don't mean to."
"Don't you?" Nick looked up from his work for just long enough to show that he was smiling and that there was no real weight to his complaints in that moment.
"Believe me, if I was trying, you'd notice."
And Sam seemed the sort of man who might actually be really bad at accepting this higher level of help. He'd always struck Nick as someone who was fairly self sufficient, even if he was constantly drawn to getting his ass handed to him by various monsters. But for now he stood there, or really leaned awkwardly. Favoring his side and looking like someone who had really just had an immensely shitty day.
"So, the tattoo is new." Nick made polite conversation, as he'd been taught to do back in medschool. Distracting upset patients had been first year training. "You didn't strike me as a tribal design kind of bro."
"It's, um, demon warding, actually." Sam sort of let his chin point to the weird star like pattern on his chest.
"Keep the demons out?"
"Yup."
"But doesn't prevent them from throwing livestock at you?"
"Nope."
Nick hid another smile, ducking his head as he nudged down the edge of Sam's jeans with the washcloth, making sure that he'd gotten the last few flakey smears of blood.
"Turn around." Nick nodded, satisfied with the work that he'd done on this side, and needing to find a reason to focus on something other than the way that no one was talking about the way that his fingers had strayed from their intended path and maybe lingered a bit too long in the hip area.
Sam raised a single eyebrow, and it got lost in that mess that he was calling his hair. " 'hmm, I feel like there's a joke in here somewhere." But still he turned around. Leaning his elbows on the counter and just hanging his head. The posture of a man who had crossed over to the other side of wanting to give up.
So, Nick tried to be quick about it, cleaning as efficiently and quickly as he could over the long lateral muscles down Sam's back. The bruising was negligible. Just a few splotches that looked like they'd come from very deliberate fists. But it wasn't bad. Certainly not by comparison. "Things look much nicer on this side,"
"Aw, Nick. You're gunna' make me blush." Sam chuckled with his head still low. His voice almost lost under the flow of water from the tap.
"Don't you start with me, because that offer to jab you right in your stitches still stands." It was hard for him not to encourage Sam. He did his best to stay strong and keep any hint of amusement from his voice. "I will give you such a poke."
Sam chuckled silently, His shoulders bouncing as he shook his head. "I can't tell if that's an offer, or a proper threat."
"Of course it's a proper threat. I'm very good at threats."
"No you're not." He was still laughing. "But I like you anyways."
It had been a long day. A bad day. For both of them.
But it seemed that despite his best efforts, somewhere deep inside, Nick had really, really missed this bastard right here- and there was something sort of wonderful about finally having him back.
He tossed the filthy washrag into the sink and turned off the water that had finally run cold. "Do you have something else to wear? Those jeans have seen better days."
"I've- yeah, out in the car." Sam slowly straightened, letting out the smallest pained noise under his breath. And then the idiot actually made like he planned to go all the way to the other side of the house for a clean change of clothes.
"Don't." Nick stopped him, that one word firm enough to surprise them both. "Here." He held out the sweatpants that he hadn't bothered to change into yet. "Put them on. We'll sort the rest out tomorrow after you've slept."
Seemingly too tired to argue, Sam took the offered pants and nodded. "Thanks."
"Yeah, yeah." Nick wasn't interested in hearing another one of Sam's millions of apologies. "Can you manage those on your own?"
And if the power hadn't been out, and they had more lighting than just the small lantern, it was possible that Nick would have been able to harbor a guess as to what the hell the look on the other man's face meant.
"I've got it." Sam finally said, about five seconds later than felt appropriate.
Like the majority of his decisions, Nick knew that he would regret this one before he put voice to the idea. Even still, that foreknowledge of 'bad' did nothing to slow him.
"You are aware of the fact that if you asked to kiss me right now, that my answer would be different from earlier, right?"
Sam didn't ask though.
Even if it had basically been spelled out for him that he should.
He just carefully set the sweatpants back on the counter, and even more carefully took Nick's face between his hands, before pulling him in and fitting their mouths together like it was their first time. There was no familiarity in the kiss. No assumptions made. Just slow, and curious, and so very hopeful.
And looking back, Nick supposed that it was Sam's unexpectedly, and unprecedented cautious approach that lead to them in bed together the next morning. Tangled up under all the blankets. Warm despite the fact that they were both fairly naked.
Nothing too exciting had happened after the shower- Sam had been too tired, Nick too overly aware of the bad road that he was merrily driving right back down even though he'd sworn to himself that he never would. But there had been no way that Sam's filthy pants were going to get between the clean sheets, and Nick hadn't wanted to get dressed just in case clothes would have been a hindrance should things go wonderfully wrong.
Other than a lot of heavy kissing, and a little light touching, they'd pretty much gone straight to sleep; and at five in the morning, that is precisely how Nick would have liked to still be, only Sam was talking and the noise interfered with his dreaming.
Grumpy at the interruption to his well earned rest, Nick lay there with his eyes closed, listening to the one sided conversation.
"It was just two demons- yeah- no, I'm fine." Sam was talking in a near whisper into his phone. "I, um… I stopped off in San Angelo for the night."
From the laughter that came muffled over the line, Nick assumed that the man was talking to his brother. Evidently, Dean was saying something that Sam didn't like, because he shifted where he was laying, rolling onto a side, away from Nick.
"You find Cas? - good. Good, I'm- what do you mean he'd joined a cult?"
Nick already had mixed feelings about this supposed 'Angel' that had been traveling with the Winchesters. His impression of the man had not improved. But that wasn't something that he felt like devoting too much time or thought to. Instead he burrowed himself deeper into the blankets and chased after the memory of sleep.
The movement seemed to catch Sam's attention, the man rolling over and oh so gently tucking Nick in before lightly touching his cheek.
"Dean, - no. Give me a day or two, I can meet you in… want to try for Reno?" There was a very long answer to that apparently, Sam laying there listening while his brother laid it all out. "So, no big cities. Ok. Yeah. I can find Mason- You want to try for three days? -Nick? um… he gave me a day or two before I have to clear out so I don't want to press him-"
"If he's not in a hurry," Nick yawned, still not bothering to open his eyes, "you can stay for a week or two."
Sam didn't move or say anything at first, then his fingers slowly trailed over Nick's cheek bone and dipping down along his jaw "Make that two weeks actually, Dean. When he wakes up," Sam kept up his low whisper, "I'll talk to him. See if I can't stay for a bit longer. Give you some time to help Cas settle down. Otherwise I'll look and see if there's any jobs between here and Mason- mm, ok. Yeah. Keep me updated- alright- get some sleep, jerk- bye."
Things got so pleasantly quiet, and in moments Nick was almost back asleep.
"Sorry if I woke you."
Nick grunted, annoyed that sleep was not the same priority for both of them. "Make it up to me tomorrow."
"What happens tomorrow?" Sam's lips lightly found Nick's forehead in a nearly sweet kiss.
"You're less sore. I'm more willing to make really bad choices." His jaw cracked softly as he yawned. "We'll figure something out."
Clumsily, Sam pressed their foreheads together. Settling against him, so close and so heartbreakingly comfortable. "You saying choices with me are bad choices?"
"I'm saying you are a bad choice." Nick smiled into the easy contact. "My favorite bad choice."
And for once, just for the sake of variety, Sam actually stayed.
A little longer than he'd planned. Long enough for the two men to get into a couple disagreements that, to an outside observer, might have been considered fights. It was healthy. Nick wouldn't have fallen for it so so whole heartedly if everything had been just smiles, and joking, and kissing. There was no lovey 'honeymoon' phase for them. They'd known each other too long, and there'd been too many reasons to not be haplessly happy together.
But, even Nick had to admit that it was a good few weeks.
He was happy, even knowing that their time was unavoidably finite. Because Sam had to leave. He would always have to leave. It was who he was, and it was what he did.
And Nick hated that part of Sam… but he loved it too.
Wasn't brave enough to tell that to the man before he left to rejoin his hellish crusade.
Wasn't brave enough the next time Sam was passing through his part of the world either.
Or during any of their hundreds of phone calls made to eachother at odd hours of the night. So many pointless words shared over the miles between them. Stupid stories and quiet secrets.
It took nearly two years before Nick got up the courage, one night, to tell the other man about the horrible feelings that he had developed at some irrational point.
And there had never in Nick's life been anything even half as nerve wracking to say as those words to that awful train wreck of a man- but somehow it was worth it when he heard them repeated back.