Old Ghosts
Part Two
"There's a plate of fried chicken on the table," Nick called as Dean hung his keys on the hook by the back door.
"Did Gary call?" Dean helped himself to a couple of pieces and grabbed a beer.
Nick was sitting in his favorite armchair and he looked up from the TV as Dean made himself comfortable on the couch, plate perched on his lap.
"Yeah, he's still pretty down. He asked me to go fishing tomorrow."
"You up for it?"
"We'll only be dropping in a few lines," Nick said pointedly. "Not deep sea diving."
"Just asking," Dean said mildly.
"You gotta stop worrying about me, Dean."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Who's worried about you? Just don't bring me back any slimy fish to clean."
"Fishing isn't about catching fish," Nick reminded him. "It's the fine art of relaxing."
"Over a cooler of beer."
"That helps." Nick chuckled. "You wanna come?"
"One of us has got to work for a living."
Nick smiled complacently. "I'm retired. Anyway, Gary told me Latimer picked up the Chevelle this afternoon. There's nothing urgent on, is there?"
"I already asked Sam to work," Dean said, fixing his eyes on the television. "Nick, how can you watch this crap?"
Nick glanced at the screen where a giggling chat show guest jiggled across the screen.
"That answer your question?" Nick said dryly as she flashed her boobs for the camera and the audience roared. "An old man has to get his pleasures where he can. You won't change your mind about tomorrow?"
"You and Gary'll have a fine time without me," Dean said firmly. "Anyway, I'm finishing early at the shop - I want to work on the Impala."
Nick glanced at the clock. "You were late in. Doing anything interesting?"
Dean smirked and polished off his chicken. "You could say that."
"Ah, to be twenty-two again," Nick sighed.
-666-
Dean woke with a start, heart pounding. Knuckling his eyes he peered blearily at the glowing numbers of his clock.
"Shit," he muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and burying his face in his hands. Sweat slicked his forehead and his hair felt damp and spiky with it. It was past two but he decided on a shower, knowing Nick would have taken his hearing aids off to go to bed.
Habit still had him treading quietly down the hall to the bathroom and carefully cranking the shower up. This wasn't the first time he'd woken in the night, heart in his throat, the sickness of old memories roiling in his gut. But tonight was the worst he could remember for a long time. Dean supposed it was hardly surprising. Being with Sam earlier, fighting those old ghosts, was bound to have stirred up memories he'd been trying to forget for half his life.
The water felt good pounding down on him, washing away the acrid scent of sweat. He stayed under the spray until his fingers began to wrinkle and then he shut it off and engulfed himself in a huge, fluffy towel, sniffing the lemony scent of the fabric softener. Nick had tried to keep everything the same since Renie died, something Dean understood and sympathized with. But at times like this it could be hard - the scent reminded Dean of Renie so much right now his chest ached with it.
How many times had she woken up when Dean had suffered one of his bad nights? Sat quietly in the kitchen with him? Made him tea and patted his hand as she slid the mug across the counter.
She was the closest thing to a mother that Dean could remember, and he missed her terribly. He could only imagine how bad Nick must still feel at times like this. Climbing alone into the big old bed he'd shared with her, the sheets smelling of lemons.
In the kitchen Dean made his own tea, sitting down at the table and inhaling the familiar scent. His thoughts strayed to the nightmare and he sighed and wrapped both hands around the gently steaming mug in front of him. Strange how it was always him that he dreamed of, even after all these years. Not the dark, frightening streets, not the parade of faces and bodies that came after, hard, careless, mocking.
Just him.
Dean shook his head, rubbing at his brow. Dammit but he wasn't going to give that fucker another second of headspace. Hadn't he proved last night that he could overcome this?
Thinking about the night before with Sam chased some of the coldness away and Dean sipped at his tea, warmer memories filling his thoughts. He wondered how Sam was feeling now, hoped the younger man wasn't regretting any of it. He didn't think he would, Sam had looked so happy and confident striding away down the path, back to his world.
Dean's small smile widened as he remembered how Sam had looked an hour or so before that. Mop of hair tousled. Cheeks flushed pink. Eyes heavy and languorous with desire. Dean shivered as he remembered Sam's hands, gripping his waist, sliding over his skin, carding through his hair.
No, Dean didn't think Sam would be regretting anything. But he couldn't help wondering. What did it all mean to Sam? His first time with a guy. Had it been an experiment? Did he still want girls more?
Dean shook his head again, chuckling at himself. He couldn't believe his own thoughts. Next he'd be fretting about whether Sam still respected him.
It would go wherever it went. Dean could only look forward to the ride.
-666-
By quarter past nine the next morning Dean was not so confident. He was working on the fuel pump of a 66 Pontiac GTO, but he couldn't keep his mind on the job and the second time he banged his head on the bonnet craning his neck to see the clock on the wall he cursed and straightened.
Suddenly Sam rushed in the door, dragging his backpack off his shoulder.
"You're late," Dean said coldly before Sam could speak, beating down his pleasure at seeing Sam's flushed face, his windblown hair bringing back sudden memories of the night before.
Sam stopped dead, backpack dangling from his big hand. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "The bus was late." He tossed his bag on the bench and pulled his overalls off the hook. "I'll leave earlier next time," he said worriedly and Dean felt a prickle of guilt.
"It's not a big deal," he said gruffly, leaning back over the engine.
"Gary not here?"
Dean finally managed to pull out the old mechanical fuel pump and he handed it to Sam."Owner wants an electric pump fitted, but we'll keep this one with the spare parts. You want to grab those hoses?"
They worked quietly for a few minutes and Dean shot a quick glance at Sam's absorbed face. He was angry at himself for snapping at the kid, but angrier still at what had prompted it. He'd only known Sam a few days, they'd only had sex once. He should not be so deep into this.
"You mad at me?" Sam asked quietly.
Dean shook his head. "I'm not mad." He fiddled with the filter for a minute longer before giving up and straightening. "I shouldn't have snapped at you," he admitted, pulling a rag from his back pocket and wiping his hands.
"Did you think I wasn't coming?" Sam asked.
He looked so earnest, so worried that Dean had to resist the urge to touch him. Sam certainly wore his heart on his sleeve and Dean didn't know whether to worry or appreciate the fact that he was so open with his thoughts and feelings.
Sam stepped a little closer. "I was worried that you'd think I wasn't coming," he admitted softly.
"Were you?" Dean murmured. How odd was it to have to look up to a lover? Yesterday that had freaked him out a little, but today with the memory of his hands sliding over those strong muscled shoulders...
"Gary isn't coming in, is he?" Sam said, stepping right up into his space now, one greasy hand tentatively resting on Dean's hip.
Dean was breathing harder and now he could smell Sam and the scent filled his nostrils, making him dizzy. Clean sweat, oil, Sam's own musk.
"No," Dean said thickly. "But a customer could." He met Sam's eyes, groaning a little as Sam licked his lips. "Don't do that."
Sam frowned, then tilted his head and chuckled lowly. "Glad I'm not the only one."
Dean couldn't help smirking at that. "You're not," he confirmed. "Now help me finish this. We can close up by twelve."
"And then?"
Dean grinned seductively. "Well, as it happens, my room mate is away for the day. Wanna spend the afternoon at my place?"
"You have a room mate?" Sam asked uncertainly.
"Yeah." Dean leaned over the engine block. "Big Greek guy."
Sam bit his lower lip but then he narrowed his eyes. "Greek guy?"
"Nick," Dean said innocently.
"Your partner Nick?" Sam demanded. "The old guy?" He didn't wait for Dean's answer, taking one look at his smirk and punching him on the shoulder.
"Hey!" Dean objected, although it had been a pretty soft punch.
"You scared the crap outta me," Sam said, and careless of the wide open doors he grabbed Dean's waist and dragged him closer. "I pictured you living with some big hunk."
"Possessive much?" Dean drawled but this time Sam wasn't ducking his head or looking shy.
"Damn right," he said firmly instead.
Lower bodies pressed together they just stood for long moments, staring into each other's faces.
"You're not seeing anyone else, are you?" Sam asked, a little uncertainly.
"Nah." Dean shrugged carelessly. "You?"
Sam shook his head, eyes on Dean's mouth and despite himself Dean parted his lips and tilted his head back as Sam leaned over him.
Luckily they heard the sputtering motor as a car drove up to the wide double doors and they had time to spring apart before the old Ford shuddered to a halt.
"Hey, Dean?"
"Hey, Leon," Dean called back, still feeling the grip of those wide hands on his hips. The morning couldn't go fast enough for him.
-666-
It was after noon by the time they had the shop shut and headed back to Dean's house to work on his car. Sam studied the house curiously as Dean's truck turned into the driveway and pulled up in front of the garage. Nick and Renie had bought the modest little three bedroom home more than forty years ago, back when Midtown was the place to be if you couldn't afford anywhere else. Sam looked around at the slightly overgrown paths and then over at the yellow clapboard home.
"Ronnie used to cut the grass for some extra cash," Dean said, kicking at the weeds. "I guess I'm going to have to find someone else to do it."
"It's a nice place," Sam decided and Dean just shrugged, inordinately glad that Sam approved. It wasn't much, the paint was peeling a bit and you could hear the highway in the distance, but it was the only real home he'd ever known.
"So, why a Chevy Impala?" Sam asked curiously as Dean unlocked the garage doors and swung them open to let in the light. "I mean, of all the classic cars, why this one? " He admired the front end. "Dude, look at all the chrome."
"Yeah, the redesign in '71 took away most of the charm for me. I don't know, Sam," Dean mused. "I just saw her at the auction and fell in love. When I'm done with the engine I'm gonna dip the body."
"What color?"
"I'm thinking... black."
Sam smiled. "What else?"
-666-
Sam was a toucher. He walked around the lounge room, long fingers stroking over the polished wood of the side table, the smooth planes of a decorative plate, the elaborate silver pattern of a photo frame. He picked up the frame and studied the posed figures, the pads of his fingers still sliding appreciatively over the elegant design.
"Your partner?"
"Yeah." Dean leaned in the doorway to the hall, enjoying the sight of Sam in his territory. "Nick and Renie."
Dean could remember gazing at the picture as Sam was doing the first time he came to this house. The young couple smiling side by side were formally dressed and wore wreaths of orange blossoms on their heads. They were both tall and sturdy, her dark hair was pinned up and a mass of brown curls cascaded over the soft blooms. His hair was lighter and brushed back from his brow. The soft flowers on his crown only accentuated the rugged maleness of his broad face and blade of a nose.
"They look happy."
"They were." Sam glanced up at him and Dean shrugged a little. "Renie died last year. Cancer."
Sam's gaze softened. "I'm sorry," he murmured. He looked back down at the picture and carefully replaced it on the sideboard. He picked up a smaller one and grinned. "You haven't changed a bit."
"It was only a few years ago," Dean pointed out. Renie had snapped the picture while he was helping Nick wash the car. He was already soaked and almost helpless with laughter as eight year old Ronnie turned the hose on him one final time.
"Gary's grandson," Sam commented and smiled when Dean raised a brow. "He showed me his picture yesterday while you were at the hospital with Nick."
"You two sure made friends fast." Dean led the way down the hall to the kitchen and flicked the kettle on.
"What's the matter?" Sam said teasingly. "Worried he might have been gossiping about you behind your back?"
Dean's good humor died and he swung around. "What did he say about me?" he asked intensely.
Sam froze in the act of peering in the fridge. "I was joking," he explained blankly.
Dean set his jaw and swung back to the cupboard, grabbing two mugs and placing them on the counter with a thud. Behind him Sam quietly closed the fridge door and when Dean swung around again there was a carton of milk on the table and Sam was leaning against it, studying him carefully.
"Sorry," Dean said lightly.
"I won't pretend I would have stopped him if he had been gossiping," Sam said carefully. "But I wasn't pumping him for info or anything. I'd much rather hear all about the life and times of Dean Petrakos from you."
"It's a very dull story." Dean poured the water over the coffee and carried the steaming mugs to the table.
"Okay." Sam accepted a mug and added a generous dollop of sugar before stirring in the milk. "How about just the part where your name's Petrakos now. Did Nick and Renie adopt you?"
"Hell no," Dean said bluntly, sitting down and adding his own milk and sugar. "I was fifteen when I started working for Nick. I'd been on my own for a year and a half before that."
"Since you were thirteen?" Sam said, sounding appalled. "How on earth did you survive?"
Dean shrugged and smiled with the ease of long practice. "Did you ever see Oliver?"
"Oliver?" Sam repeated dubiously. "As in Oliver Twist?"
"That's the one."
Sam raised a brow in disbelief. "You were a pick pocket?"
"Something like that. It was all very tragic and Dickensian."
"Dickensian?"
"Yeah, what? You think I don't know what that means?" Dean said, looking offended at the disbelief in Sam's tone. He held onto his indignation for about ten seconds and then deflated. "All right, that's what Renie called it when I tried my Oliver Twist story out on her."
Sam shook his head, snorting a laugh. "She sounds like she had your number."
"Oh she did," Dean confirmed. "I never got away with a damn thing around that lady." Sam was still staring at him, slowly stirring his coffee and Dean gave in. "Look, Sam. It was a shitty time in my life, okay? I skipped out on the foster home from hell and lived rough for a while. I really don't like to talk about it."
"I don't blame you," Sam said sympathetically. "It sounds like a nightmare."
No, it was the nightmare I was running from.
Dean didn't speak his thoughts aloud, he just shrugged. "Nick picked me up hitch hiking from Frisco. He offered me a job and a roof over my head. And I just... stayed."
"And your name? What was it before?"
Dean's throat tightened. "Winchester," he said softly.
"Like the gun?"
"Like the gun."
"It's a pretty cool name."
"I like this one better. I was eighteen when Nick and I talked about me getting my A.S.E. Automotive Service Excellence Certificate," he explained. "He gave me some forms and a couple of them were for a change of name." Dean's throat tightened a little at the memory and he gazed down into his coffee cup. "And he said he and Renie would like me to have their name."
And Dean remembered it like it was yesterday.
Five years ago...
Nick handed over the sheaf of brochures and forms. "You have your two years experience already. You'll have no problem passing the written test."
"I'm glad you're confident," Dean said doubtfully, taking the papers and reading the brochure. "Automotive Service Excellence Certificate," he read. "I don't know, Nick. What if I screw up?"
Nick sat down next to him on the step. "Life sentence. Bread and water."
Dean looked at him wryly and the old man shrugged. "Or you could just try again," he suggested.
"I'd be a real mechanic," Dean mused, amazed at the thought. "Officially."
"It's just a piece of paper, Dean," Nick said gently. "But sometimes a piece of paper can mean the world." He cleared his throat and Dean looked up at him curiously. "Er, Renie and I were talking, Dean. And we wondered..."
"What?"
Nick hesitated and seemed to change tack. "You know, we thought about fostering kids ourselves, years ago. When we realized we'd never have any of our own. Wish we had now."
Dean's throat tightened and he looked down blindly at the papers in his hand. "You should have."
Nick nodded. "Well, it's too late for all that. But Renie and I, well... We were thinking. When you take that test..."
Dean frowned quizzically at the old man's discomfort. "What?"
Nick pulled another form out of his jacket and handed it over. Dean read the title three times before it really registered.
"Petition for Change of Name?"
"Well, when you get that A.S.E. We'd like it to be as Dean Petrakos."
The words on the form blurred as Dean gazed at them. It wasn't just the generosity of the offer from the two people he cared most about in the world. It was all that offer signified.
Dean Petrakos.
A new name for a new life.
A name and a life he could be proud of.
Dean could only nod once, but Nick understood, slapping him on the shoulder and climbing to his feet with a creak. "I'm gonna tell Renie," he said cheerfully. "Maybe she'll make us that brandy cake of hers."
"Nick?" Dean managed.
The old man paused, waiting, but Dean couldn't find any words.
A strong, gnarled hand touched his head, scrubbed roughly for a moment, and then Nick was disappearing through the screen door, calling for his wife.
Dean carefully folded the papers and put them in his jacket pocket.
-666-
"Didn't you ever..." Sam hesitated. "Well, I mean, your father. Didn't you want to keep his name?"
An old anger and grief roiled in Dean's belly but he clamped down on it and managed a careless shrug. "How old were you when your parents adopted you?"
Sam frowned a little at the change of subject. "About three."
"I was seven when they took me to the home. A lot of stuff I don't remember, or maybe I remember wrong." Dean shook his head. "But I know that my father dumped us in a motel and split. He never came back. Why the hell would I want to keep his name?"
"Us?" Sam probed gently and Dean stiffened. He didn't talk about the past, with anybody. And Renie had been the only one he'd ever spoken to about his memories, broken and incomplete as they were.
"I don't want to talk about that," Dean said firmly. All of a sudden he wished he had the last hour over again. The last thing he wanted was to talk about those days, to see pity in Sam's eyes.
But Sam just studied him seriously for a few moments and then nodded. "Okay."
Not sure what to make of such an easy acceptance Dean just sat and sipped at his coffee. Was Sam offended? Angry at the snub?
"What's for lunch?"
Nonplussed, Dean had to think about that for a second. "I don't know what we have. I think there's some cold cuts in the fridge."
"Works for me," Sam said, crossing to the fridge and starting to pull out various plates and dishes. "Bread?" he queried.
Dean was still sitting over his cooling coffee and what he later decided was probably a dumb expression on his face, because Sam smiled at him and leaned over, hair flopping over his brow. "That is, if it's sandwiches you're hungry for?" he murmured invitingly.
Dean decided what he was hungry for in about three seconds, and by then he was on his feet and dragging Sam around the table. The younger man didn't seem too surprised by the sudden move, he met Dean halfway and then they were kissing, Dean pressing Sam back against the counter. The world swung wildly and then he could feel the worn surface digging into his back.
"I need a shower," Sam growled against the skin of Dean's throat and Dean clutched broad upper arms and moaned. "I want to see you with water pouring down all over you."
"Fantasy of yours?" Dean panted, tilting his head and letting Sam suck on his neck.
"One of many." Sam pulled back.
"Tell me more."
Sam grinned wolfishly and Dean swallowed hard at the wicked thrust of desire in his loins. "Impossible. In the fantasy my mouth is way too busy for talking."
"Fantasy's good," Dean said weakly. "I am all about the fantasy here."
"You might be sorry you said that," Sam told him as Dean grabbed his hand and led him down the hall to the bathroom. "Cos I have this whole pirate thing going on lately."
"Yoho yoho," Dean smirked, then opened the door and pushed Sam into the bathroom.
-666-
When Renie first got sick Nick and Dean had pulled out the old tub and put in a double shower unit with tiled walls and a recessed seat. As it turned out Renie's cancer had been an aggressive one, by the time the bathroom was finished she was already in hospital. But whenever Dean used the shower he never failed to remember working in here with Nick and Gary, with Gary's grandson Ronnie running around helping out.
Today he didn't give that time a passing thought, except to be grateful to the roomy exterior and smooth tiled walls. Especially when Sam pressed him back against the navy blue tiles and hungrily devoured his lips.
Sam's big hands were braced on either side of his head and Dean closed his eyes against the warm spray of water pouring over them. His own hands were glorying in the feel of Sam's smooth young skin as he stroked down his chest, smoothed over his quivering belly and circled his already hard cock.
"God," Sam muttered against his mouth and Dean's lips curved in satisfaction as he caught Sam's hip with his left hand and drew him closer so his right could work its magic. Sam pressed against him, his own hands now following Dean's lead, stroking, searching, finding Dean's cock and wrapping his hand around its length.
They broke their kiss, leaning into one another now, water beating down on them, hands stroking, pumping, easing off then pushing to the limit. Dean's hips jerked, he wanted to come but he also wanted this to last forever and he finally stilled his hand and caught Sam's lips in one last kiss before sliding down to his knees.
Sam leaned back against the wall, broad shoulders pressed against the slick tiles, hips slightly canted as Dean kissed his flat belly and played in the soft trace of hair arrowing from his navel.
"Dean," he murmured, one big hand curving through wet hair, the other cupping Dean's jaw, thumb stroking his mouth. Dean parted his lips, accepted that thumb, nursed on it for a moment until Sam groaned again and pulled it free with a wet pop. "Please, Dean," he entreated and Dean licked his lips and slanted a glance up the lean strength of Sam's body.
Sam's hips were narrow and his chest tapered up to his wide shoulders. His skin was blushed like a peach, tiny nipples pink and hard, flat belly heaving with every breath. Sam opened his eyes and gazed down at him through damp lashes and then he smiled tenderly. Dean's heart leapt in his chest.
The tiled floor was hard under his knees but Dean felt no discomfort as he parted his lips and accepted Sam inside him. Senses overwhelmed him as he tasted Sam, breathed in the scent of him, felt the jerk of his potent maleness on his tongue. This was all new under Sam's loving touch, long sensitive fingers gripping his skull but not painfully, measured strength guiding Dean's head but not forcefully. Sam was a giving and responsive lover and Dean used every skill he had and some he'd never suspected he possessed to suck him to a tumultuous climax.
Dean swallowed and licked his lips, chuckling a little as he had to brace Sam against the wall in the aftermath. With trembling fingers Sam tugged him upward and Dean collapsed against him gratefully as Sam took his lips, tasted himself on them.
"Sam?" Dean managed as Sam hugged him close.
"Mmm?" Sam's hand was sliding to Dean's cock again and Dean stopped him with a gentle touch.
"Dude, I'm wrinkling up here. Wanna try my bed?"
"But my fantasy," Sam mumbled, drawing back and smiling teasingly.
"Save it," Dean advised. "Besides." He shut down the water and drew the glass doors open. "I have a fantasy too."
Sam accepted a big fluffy towel and rubbed his face. "I hope it involves me taking care of that for you," he said hopefully, nodding to Dean's bobbing cock.
"Duh," Dean smirked. "It also involves my chocolate brown sheets and seeing you spread out all over them."
Sam hooked the towel around Dean's neck and drew him closer. "That's it?" he whispered. "Me and sheets?"
"I'm a simple man." Dean jerked as his shower-sensitive skin rubbed on Sam's taut belly. "Oh, god," he moaned. "With simple needs."
Sam grinned.
-666-
Afternoon sun filtered in through the curtains, golden warm and sprinkled with tiny dust motes as it slanted across the bedroom. Dean's body was humming with satisfaction. In the back of his head he knew Nick would be home in a few hours and low in his belly his stomach told him he'd skipped lunch.
But the rest of his body was slack and warm and supremely contented. He could never remember feeling such a sense of completion after sex. In fact he couldn't remember feeling much of much of anything after sex before Sam. It had been the act itself that was the goal. When that had been achieved the next priority was usually a graceful exit.
Right now Dean didn't want to go anywhere.
"Hey, Dean?" Sam's head rested on Dean's shoulder.
"Hmm?" Dean hummed contentedly.
"About earlier. I didn't mean to pry or anything."
Dean ran his fingers through soft brown locks and sighed. "And I wasn't trying to push you away. I just don't like to remember all that."
Sam shifted and rested his chin on Dean's breast bone, gazing earnestly up at him. "Was it really so bad?"
Dean's heart ached in his chest at the innocent question. Even if he had the words he could never burden Sam with any part of his past. Not this clean young man with only innocent warmth in his eyes. He twirled a soft curl around one finger then simply said: "Yes."
Amazingly Sam's eyes moistened at the stark word, and he bit at his lip as his brow puckered. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"How is that every time we end up in bed you say you're sorry," Dean pointed out in fond exasperation. "You have nothing to apologise for, Sam, so stop saying you're sorry, okay?"
"It's not that kind of sorry," Sam said stubbornly, rolling over and resting on one elbow. Dean instantly missed that warmth down his side and the smooth, soft hair under his fingers. "I'm sorry that you had such a hard time back then. And I'm sorry that..." Here he hesitated, suddenly looking a little uncertain. "I mean, I hope that one day you might want to talk about it. With me."
Dean blinked in surprise. Moments ago he'd been thinking how young Sam looked, but now, with that determined cast to his features, he looked older. Stronger. Even at a moment so fraught with emotion it was still a hell of a turn-on.
"Maybe," Dean agreed, lifting his hand and cupping Sam's shoulder, feeling the flex and play of muscles under the smooth skin. "Keep trying those fantasies out on me and you might wear me down."
Sam chuckled. "Well," he said, lifting his own hand and smoothing over Dean's collar bone. "There was this one..."
-666-
"Sorry to drag you away from the fish."
Gary grinned. "You just wanted to leave early because the beer's all gone."
Nick chuckled, stretching his legs out in Gary's roomy truck. "I've got more in the fridge, if you want to stop for a while?"
"Thanks anyway, I'm waiting on a call tonight."
"Shona?" Nick had always tried to keep his opinions about Gary's errant daughter to himself, but his doubt must have come through in his voice because Gary's answer was swift and defensive.
"She promised. And if she forgets, Ronnie will remember. I had the boy memorize my number before they left. He'll call if he needs me."
"He's a good kid." Nick studied his old friend's profile seriously and Gary shrugged.
"Don't know what I did wrong raising Shona," he said bleakly. "But I was sure I was gonna have a chance to do right by Ronnie."
"They might be back," Nick ventured.
"You mean Shona might dump him back on me," Gary sighed.
"I guess," Nick admitted. "And you didn't do one thing wrong raising that girl. She's made her own choices in life. A man can only do so much for his kids."
The truck pulled up in front of the house and Nick pushed the door open.
"Nick," Gary said and Nick twisted in his seat. "Thanks. I just thought with Ronnie - well, that I could do for him what you and Renie did for Dean. The boy's a credit to you."
Nick nodded agreement. "Don't know what I would have done without him since Renie passed."
"I gotta admit, I thought you were crazy when you first bought him to the shop."
"I remember," Nick chuckled.
"Giving him work, letting him sleep in the back. I thought you were borrowing a world of trouble."
"I remember you said that too."
"But seriously? Other than marrying Renie and hiring me - that boy's the best thing you've ever done."
Nick sat back in his seat, chewing at his lip a little. "I worry about him though, Gary. Dean's nearly twenty-three. He should be out, finding some pretty young thing and marrying her. Making a family of his own. He's so busy looking after me..."
"I don't see you needing that much looking after."
"Not right now. But I hate the thought of becoming dependent on him. Of tying him down. With guilt if nothing else."
"Oh now, come on," Gary chided. "Guilt's got nothing to do with the way Dean is with you. You're not the only one with pride, you know? You ever think Dean might be glad to have the chance to pay you back some, for all you and Renie did for him?"
Nick turned it over in his mind. "I guess," he admitted.
"Then let him. Besides, until he does make that family of his own - you're all he has."
They said their good-byes and Nick watched as the truck disappeared around the corner. He was thinking about Gary's words. Dean was all he had too, now that Renie was gone. Nick felt the ache of her loss every minute, but he had to admit he wasn't quite ready to lay down and die yet, and a lot of that was down to Dean. The last thing Renie had said to him was that she loved him. The second last thing was to ask him to look after Dean.
It was a promise Nick intended to keep.
The house was quiet but Dean's truck was out back and Nick headed for the bathroom and his medicine cabinet, thinking he might get away with forgetting to take his pills with him, if Dean was busy in the garage.
And then he heard the voices from Dean's room. Masculine voices, one Dean's and one a stranger.
Nick froze in shock, frowning as he listened to the low exchange, unable to make out any words but sure now that he didn't know the other voice. In all the years Dean had lived here he'd never brought a woman home, not to Nick's knowledge anyway. Nick had appreciated it, being old fashioned enough not to want a parade of Dean's bed partners draped over the breakfast table every weekend.
And now he had brought someone home, and it was a man?
Nick and Dean had never spoken of that year and a half that Dean had spent in the city after running from his last foster home. Details had been kept to a bare minimum, with Dean only revealing how long he'd been on his own, and how old he was now. But Nick was no fool, he'd been sixty-three back then, and he knew enough of the world to know what he was seeing when he picked the hitch-hiking boy up.
Long dyed blonde bangs. Bruised lips, wrists, slight hitch in his step. And those eyes, big and green and haunted, eyes that had seen too much in a fifteen year old face, white teeth biting his lip as he curved back against the door of the pickup, keeping as far away from Nick as possible.
Nick often thought how different it all could have been. If they hadn't broken down on the highway. If Dean hadn't peered curiously under the hood as Nick checked it over. If they hadn't got to talking, and Nick hadn't mentioned that he was looking for someone to help around the shop, maybe train up a bit. If Nick hadn't handed Dean a business card.
Even then it had been days before Dean showed up, face grubby, looking hungry and desperate.
So, no details, but Nick had a fair idea what Dean had done, and had taken some guesses of his own about what had been done to him to start it all off. Which made it all the more worrying that he was standing here now while Dean had a man in his room.
Nick dismissed out of hand that Dean might have gone back to his old ways. That desperate kid was long gone, replaced by a proud young man who had earned the right to be a partner in Nick's business. To be invited to share Nick and Renie's name. But what if he'd been coerced in some way? Nick had no idea what kind of scars a childhood like Dean's had left behind. Had someone pressured him? Some older guy maybe, persuasive, charming. What if...
And then Dean laughed and a beat later another laugh joined in, and it was husky and intimate and completely contradicted every thought in Nick's head.
As well as waking him up to the fact that he was eavesdropping.
Quietly he made his way out onto the porch and dropped down into a chair.
So, not forced then. Which left Nick in the unenviable position of being a little uncomfortable about this.
Because it was one thing to know what Dean had done as a child, a victim. But it was another thing to accept that Dean... his boy... was in there with a man.
"You're an old fool," he told himself, and maybe he was. But he was seventy, dammit. And in his day boys grew up and married girls. And if they didn't they had the decency to go off to the city or New York or someplace and do it far away.
Which was a sobering thought, because he'd just got through telling Gary he didn't know what he'd do without Dean now. He sure didn't want the boy feeling like he had to run off somewhere else every time he wanted to... When he felt the need to...
Nick shrugged and grimaced. This was ridiculous. He wasn't going to skulk around outside his own home just because Dean had taken some guy to his bed. He could deal with it.
So he stumped into the house and let the screen door slam behind him. He opened up the fridge with a rattle and pulled out a bottle of beer, hearing Dean's door open down the hall as he slammed it shut.
"Dean, you home?" he called out.
There was a flurry of sound and Nick almost laughed as he made himself comfortable at the table and threw back a swallow of beer.
"Nick," Dean said, rushing into the room. He was barefoot and doing up his shirt over his jeans. His hair was every which way and he was buttoning up the shirt all wrong. "I thought you said six."
"I forgot my pills," Nick said shortly, because he wasn't going to sneak around and pretend he hadn't, not in his own home.
"Oh, right." Dean looked down the hall and Nick glanced at the doorway as the stranger from Dean's bed made his first appearance.
Nick was glad he was sitting down.
He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, now that he thought about it. One of those guys from the city maybe, all slick hair and pink shirts. Someone older, sleazier. Something.
But this... kid. Looked about eighteen or nineteen, fresh faced and blushing. He was tall, and masculine enough, his big, raw knuckled hands smoothing down the front of his hooded sweat, his brown mop all shaggy and tumbled.
But he was so far from sleazy, or predator, or just not-good-enough-for-his-boy that Nick almost laughed.
He stopped himself just in time because Dean and and the kid both looked embarrassed enough.
"Visitor?" he said, feeling an ache slough away from his chest.
"Uh, this is Sam," Dean ventured. "Sam Fielding. Sam, this is Nick Petrakos."
"Sir," Sam said politely, thrusting out a paw. Nick took it and shook hands, appreciating the boy's firm grip and polite manner. "We spoke on the phone," Sam offered and Nick nodded.
"I recall. Phil Nash spoke highly of you. Said he'd have hired you on the spot if you hadn't gotten that scholarship."
Sam blushed again, a sweep of red across clear, youthful skin and Nick gestured to a chair. "Help yourself to a beer, son, and sit down. Dean, get my pills from the cabinet, would you?"
"Uh, sure," Dean said, exchanging a look with Sam. "Get me a beer too?"
Sam pulled two from the fridge and sat down on one of the hard wooden chairs.
Nick was feeling magnanimous. Turned out he was okay with Dean's choice after all, in fact he couldn't remember exactly what had bothered him about the idea. Wasn't he always on at the boy to go out and find someone? Enjoy himself?
Six foot four and wide shoulders wasn't exactly what Nick had had in mind, but it was all good.
So long as Dean was happy.
Dean just looked kind of nervous when he rushed back in the kitchen with Nick's pills, but in a few minutes Nick had everyone pretty relaxed with his story about the tiddlers he and Gary had caught and thrown back. The conversation switched to cars and Nick poked fun at Dean's Chevy while Sam grinned and drained his beer. Eventually Dean suggested nachos for supper, and he and Sam worked together at the counter to assemble the meal while Nick twiddled with the radio and found a nice easy listening station for the background music.
After dinner they watched a DVD and laughed at all the funny places.
And it was the best night Nick remembered in... a year.
-666-
"I like Nick," Sam said. "He's great."
"He liked you too." They pulled up in front of Sam's dorm and Dean twisted in his seat.
Sam was biting his lip with a nervous gesture. "You think he knows what we were doing?"
Dean snorted. "Oh yeah."
Sam grimaced and peered into Dean's face. "How do you feel about that?"
Dean shrugged. "Honestly? I'm okay. Mainly cos Nick was okay."
"You care about what he thinks," Sam stated. "I get that. I'm just trying to imagine how I'd feel if my Dad had found me with you like that. I think I'd be freaking about now."
"Nick's not my dad," Dean reminded him. "I was practically grown up when I met him. He's never pried into my private life before, I don't think he'll start now."
"So, we're okay?"
Dean lifted a hand and cupped Sam's smooth young cheek, stomach tightening as Sam tilted his head into the warmth of Dean's palm and half closed his eyes. Dean gently stroked his thumb over his mouth and Sam parted his lips and the tip of his tongue darted out.
"We're fine," Dean managed hoarsely. "Sam."
Their lips met gently and they just kissed for long moments, tongues touching, tasting, exploring and then retreating. The kisses that led to their love making had been tempestuous and wild, looking for the promise of passion to come. But these kisses were kisses just for their own sake, and they were filled with such sweetness Dean felt his throat tightening.
They were supposed to be saying good-bye, but Dean was scooting over the cracked, old vinyl seat, and Sam met him in the middle. Now their hands were stroking as they kissed languorously, soft sighs and panting breaths gently steaming the truck's interior.
"We're necking like teenagers without a perfectly good bed back home," Dean sighed, head tilting back as Sam mouthed his jaw line and down to his throat.
"With Nick there?" Sam said breathlessly, drawing back a little.
"Did you happen to notice Nick's hearing aids? He takes them off to go to bed."
"We can't go back now," Sam said, but he looked mighty tempted all the same.
"I'll talk to him," Dean offered impulsively. "About you staying over another time."
"So there will be another time?"
Dean's hand had squirreled under Sam's sweat shirt and was smoothing over his ribs, blunt thumb rubbing Sam's tiny nipple to hardness beneath the soft cotton.
"Oh, I definitely think we're beyond that question," Dean murmured as the small nub tightened under his touch and Sam's eyes glazed a little.
"I, er, I have to study tomorrow," Sam sighed reluctantly. "But maybe tomorrow night?"
"I'll talk to Nick."
-666-
Nick was sitting in the dark living room watching TV. Some newscaster was droning away and the old man was snoozing gently. He opened his eyes and snorted awake as Dean peeked in the door.
"I thought you'd be in bed," Dean murmured, flicking on a lamp and shutting off the TV.
"I thought you might want your mind putting at rest." Nick raised a bushy brow and peered at him. "Don't look so worried, I'm not gonna give you a hard time. This is your home, Dean. You're welcome to bring anyone you like into it."
"It's your home too," Dean said carefully, sitting down on the edge of the couch.
"I've been telling you for a while to find someone," Nick reminded him. "I'm just glad you finally took my advice."
Dean shook his head. "It's not like that."
"Like what?" Nick said curiously. "Like those floozies you usually pick up?"
Dean rolled his eyes and sat back on the couch.
"Yeah, I know," Nick chuckled. "You've heard this lecture from me before. So what's different with Sam?"
Dean tried to consider that seriously but couldn't keep the smirk on his face from turning into a chuckle. A beat later Nick was joining him and they were both laughing fit to burst.
"All right, all right," the old man panted as he heaved himself up from his chair. Dean sprang up and grasped his elbow and Nick let him, standing for a moment as he caught his breath, still snorting and chuckling. "I'll keep my big Greek nose out of it." Dean let go of his arm and flicked the lamp back off as they left the room. "Just do me a favor?"
Dean paused at the door to his bedroom.
"Just treat that boy right. I like him." Nick patted Dean's shoulder and trod the worn carpet to his own room.
"I like him too," Dean said softly.
End of Part Two.