"Oh look." Spike takes one hand out of his pockets to gesture vaguely at a vendor going by. "Yet another pretzel joint. Or there's a lovely cafe two floors down."

Dean, in his single minded yet frenzied quest, just nods. "Uh huh."

"There goes a taco place—along with my hopes and dreams of getting out of this mall before I'm eighty."

"Great."

"Or…ah ha! Dumplings!"

This catches Dean's ping-pong fast eyes, of all things. "You'd eat dumplings for breakfast?"

Spike snags a corner of Dean's winter jacket to stop the almost jogging pace. The boy spins around from his halted trajectory, if he even had one to begin with. "Actually, dumplings are often served as part of dim sum, which is like brunch."

"Huh." Dean's brows go up while he thinks about this. "I never knew that. And this isn't just a mall, Spike. Come on. It's the Eaton Centre."

"So you are listening!" Then Spike makes a face. "I don't care what fancy name they give it. It's a mall. And I'm still not over the time someone got shot in the women's bathroom and Jules had to talk her shooter off a ledge upstairs."

Dean's whole expression kind of blanks for a second and then he seems to throw this last tidbit out the window. "It's the biggest shopping selection around! If I'm going to find the perfect gift—and I only have a few hours to do so—then it's going to be here."

"It's ten in the morning and I only got maybe an hour of sleep. Remember our deal?"

Dean deflates. "You drive me here and back if I buy you breakfast."

"Good man. So?"

"I could just take the subway back."

"Yeah right." Spike snorts. "And deal with lunch hour traffic—not to mention your father's worry? I don't think so."

Digging through his raggedy jeans' pocket, Dean produces his wallet. "You want those dumplings?"

Spike peers through the heated glass at an array of Chinese food. "Only if they're the miniature ones shaped like pandas, with egg and cheese in them."

"Deal, you child." Dean ribs him but he's grinning. He hands over a few bills. "Enjoy your tiny bears."

The owner, a petite, grey haired lady, hands ten of them to Spike in a small basket. He nods at her. "Xie, xie!"

By the time Spike rubs his chopsticks apart and bites the ear off his first panda, Dean is already gone. Spike runs to catch up, only to find Dean fretting while looking in shop windows.

There are more shoppers than normal for this early in the day, probably with Valentine's Day so close. Winnie's distaste for the organized 'holiday' means he didn't get her anything, as usual. Though he does plan on opening a bottle of his mother's shipped-straight-from-the-vineyard wine for them.

Also as usual.

Spike finishes swallowing. "Mira's coming back tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah! She's doing some of her botany internship right here in Toronto." Dean's excitement bleeds through some of the anxiety, brightening his eyes and unclasping his hands from their wringing. He looks years younger. "I'll get to see her all semester!"

"That's awesome." Spike rustles Dean's hair using his elbow. "How about this store? It's got accessories and stuff."

To his utter and bald faced shock, Dean totally bypasses Spike's suggestion for the Disney store.

"And you call me the child?"

Spike's spluttering protests go unnoticed as Dean winds around a Tarzan display. In a bewildered trance, Spike follows Dean until he makes it to a One Hundred and One Dalmatians shelf, miniscule and unnoticed amidst all the Frozen merchandise, and stops there with a serious expression.

"I feel like this is payback for the taco comment," says Spike.

"No…" A new voice comes up behind him, followed by the smell of snow and crisp outdoors. He turns to see Sam, sunglasses on and waving a jerky hand at the lights and children shrieking. Not to mention the Disney karaoke booth by the cash. "This is payback."

Spike's snickers turn into a full blown laugh when two little girls start up a belting rendition of "A Whole New World."

Sam takes another sip of the very…very black coffee in his hand and throws a mutinous look at Spike. Even without the sunglasses, Spike knows that expression.

Dean gives Sam a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, then goes back to looking at Dalmatian lunch boxes.

Sam's other hand is buried deep in his wool coat and he looks faintly like he'd love to burrow in it. Or die in it, whichever comes first.

"Dumpling?" Spike holds out the basket.

"Now you're just taunting me." Sam's nose wrinkles. "How are you so…?"

He uses the coffee cup to indicate up and down at Spike.

Spike laughs again. "Is that coffee working for you?"

"No. Seriously, you had more rounds than I did last night. What gives?"

"Well, for starters—black coffee actually has the least amount of caffeine when compared to a blond roast."

"Are you giving me a science lesson right now? Rude."

Spike ignores him to grin. "I really do have to thank you for that window smash of a bachelor party. What a blast! The Vegas circus theme was a nice touch."

"Spike…"

"Maybe you're just a lightweight, compared to how I drank you under the table."

"Ha!" Sam's face animates from its dead stare for the first time since he arrived, a broad and sly smirk. "That'll be the day. Spill. How'd you do it?"

Spike throws an arm around his friend, coupled with an indulgent, almost giddy smile. "Sam, I stopped ordering alcoholic beer an hour in."

Sam's mouth hangs open and his eyes are so wide they're slightly visible around the edges of the sunglasses.

Dean pouts. "Don't remind me of what I missed. I can't believe you only let us stay for an hour—I turned twenty last month! I didn't even get to see the magician's big finale!"

Spike rolls his eyes. "And you have classes this afternoon, which I assumed you don't want to sleep through. Go finish picking out your dog knapsack or whatever, Mr. Maturity."

"Non-alcoholic beer?" Sam, not firing on all cylinders, is still suck on this apparently earth-shaking fact. "Greg is rubbing off on you."

"No." Spike cants his head. "Well, yes, but I knew I had to drive Dean this morning so I wanted to stay sharp. Not to mention my doctor's orders to take it easy. I don't have great memories of being inebriated, either of myself or…other people."

Sam takes another sip, brow quirked. "That's fair."

Something occurs to Spike for the first time. He glances around. "How did you even know we were here? Are you Valentine's shopping too?"

"Nope." Sam jabs a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm chauffeuring a gremlin of my own."

Spike turns and sure enough, there is Clark at the front of the store, rifling through a box of Toy Story stickers. His cello case, the backpack straps slung over his shoulders, is a hazard unto itself. It bumps some little Simba plushies onto the floor.

Dean nearly drops the knapsack-lunchbox combo. He flails a hand. "You brought him here?!"

The two older men exchange confused glances. Spike pauses with a dumpling halfway to his mouth.

"Sure," says Sam. He bounces his coffee cup in the air for emphasis. "You texted him last night that you were going shopping and then he texted me this morning because he wanted to come along before rehearsals, to get something for his mom. He said he needs your advice."

"What's the big deal?" Spike adds. "Maybe he can help you find that perfect gift for Mira. Win-win."

"Oh, I already bought something for Mira weeks ago."

Spike nearly chokes on a piece of egg. "Then why am I in this mall—it's totally a mall. Sam, back me up—at ten on a Saturday morning after my own bachelor party?"

With a quiet wail of distress, Dean stuffs the Dalmatians back and runs a frantic hand through his hair. "You have to get rid of him! Right now! Go!"

He tries to shove at Sam and Spike, to get them moving, but neither budge. Spike takes another serene bite of his breakfast. Across the store, some jumping kids get thoroughly into the high parts of "Reflection" from Mulan.

"Points for effort," Sam deadpans, when Dean pushes at the man's bicep. "What's going on, Stuart Little?"

Dean sags, puffing. "Why are you guys built like tanks?"

Sam grins again, flicking Spike's chopsticks. "That'll also be the day."

Spike scowls at him.

"Oh, hey! Dalmatians—my favourite Disney movie!" Clark comes bounding over, sidestepping a little boy in a cowboy hat. "What's up, Dean? Thanks for helping me out."

"Hey, Clark," says Dean in a small voice.

Spike offers Clark a dumpling and he eats it in one bite.

"Philistine," Spike mutters. It's Sam's turn to laugh. "We were just heading over to the accessories place. Wanna come?"

Clark glances between them, this strange, one third hungover huddle. "That'd be awesome. Mom's looking for a new necklace chain since her old one broke."

Dean is overcome with such a relieved expression that Spike feels sorry for him.

"It's totally Dad's fault since he put it through the wash by accident," Clark explains. "But he denies the whole thing."

"Great!" Spike pokes at Clark with the chopsticks to get him moving. "We'll be right there."

When Clark shuffles away, lamenting the lack of good retro Disney merchandise, there's a pause. Sam takes a sip, shares a knowing smile with Spike, and joins in the low rumble of laughter.

Dean bristles. "What?"

"Nothing." Sam takes another sip. "Nothing at all."

"It's just really cute," Spike tacks on.

"Clark's mid term recital is tonight." Sam eyes him over the top rim of his shades. "I know I'm right because his schedule is on your mini fridge."

Dean folds his arms, immediately defensive. "His parents haven't been able to come to the last few, okay?"

"Uh-huh."

Sam nods along. "Yep."

"And he's really nervous for this one—he has two solos."

Spike's smile grows. "Totally."

"Yep," Sam parrots himself. Spike can't keep up the charade, giggling.

"Oh, shut it." Dean steals the last dumpling. He speaks around a mouthful of cheese. "I wanted to cheer up Clark somehow."

"We'll leave you to it, then." Sam takes a dramatic bow and then instantly regrets it, groaning. "Preferably somewhere less noisy."

Before following, Spike claps Dean's back. "That's really kind of you, Dean, I mean it. You're a good best friend."

Dean gets all red and shy-eyed, with that distinct Parker spark. Spike's smile turns fond.

Then Dean reaches out in a hasty, tight side hug, one of those on-the-spot embraces he's been doing ever since Thanksgiving, as if to reassure himself that Spike is still breathing and alive. That he's not coughing up blood anymore.

Spike reciprocates without a second thought, pulling him back in for a real hug, noogie and all.

"You're the worst. Even Dad says so."

"I love you too, brother mine."

Dean lets out a little laugh and it's the lightest Spike has seen him all day. "I just know it's been a rough year, for all of us really. And plus—he really does love Dalmatians. He says he wants to have one for a pet someday."

"He sure does!" Spike only knows this because of Clark's dorm key chain, a little Dipstick figurine. He finally releases Dean to wink. "Go get 'em, caboose!"

"I'm going to retaliate someday for that. When you least expect it."

Spike waves over his shoulder to Dean's call. "Whatever you say, sprout!"

Sam is waiting for him outside the store, leaning on the railing next to Clark's cello. It's been extradited from the tightly packed accessories store after one too many run ins with the racks. Spike knows this from experience and angry store clerks.

He throws out the basket and then, clapping off his hands, leans beside his friend. Sam's back to that neutral, slightly grimacing expression, though the caffeine has calmed his headache.

Together, they watch bustling crowds with red candies and clothes and roses file past. Spike wonders who they'll all be going home to, if some are lonely or if some have been married for years. He wonders how busy Team One will be when that day comes, how many jumpers they'll talk off ledges and jilted lovers they'll have to escort out of houses.

At some point, Disney bag hidden where it is stuffed in his jacket pocket, Dean zips out of the store and joins Clark. Through the window, they see an animated discussion start up about gold versus rose gold, one which Clark seems to be winning. The clerk looks a little overwhelmed.

"Can I have some coffee too?"

Sam hands him the cup. Spike thanks him and swigs gritty grinds at the bottom. Hands it back.

Sam finishes it off with a satisfied sigh, nodding to himself. "I know somewhere that's less noisy and more noise oriented, if you're up for it."

Spike is totally lost for a moment.

Then he spies Sam's wicked grin, mirroring it with one of his own. "Oh, we shouldn't. Should we?"

"Is that cowardice talking?"

"You're the one with a hangover, living dangerously."

"Why not?" Sam shrugs and taps the fiberglass case. "It's free to the public, right? I've got nothing planned at all tonight."

"Sam Braddock, you are a genius."

Without looking, they fist bump just as the boys emerge victorious, velvet box in hand.

"It's exactly like her old one!" Clark declares, pulling up to them. "Mom is going to love it! Beat that, Dad."

"Hey." Spike opens the box and has to admit, it really does look an awful lot like Sophie's favourite gold chain. "Be nice to Ed, or he'll take it out on us during drills Monday."

"I don't miss that," Sam grumbles. Then a peculiar look steals across his features while he glances around. "You know…this is totally just a mall."

"Yes! Thank you!"

AN: As a cellist myself, I have knocked over many a rack in my day. Hoo boy - store clerks do not like those instrument cases! And mini dumplings are the best! If you've never had one I highly recommend them.