I don't own anything within this story relevant to Supernatural or its characters, but the story itself is mine and mine alone.
I have to say, you guys totally impress me with your on the ball questions. This was always intended to be the "friends" chapter, but you timed your inquiries perfectly. I hadn't forgotten about them, I just didn't want to press my luck having Dean go out to meet them too soon. I'm already stretching things with him leaving the hospital in such a timely fashion. So here are your answers. Hope it's satisfying. Also, to answer your question Xdaisy chainX, coffee cake is basically a sweet breakfast cake, so named because people tend to drink coffe when eating it. It usually is made with ooey gooey sugary goodness, and sometimes has nuts or fruits in it, too. I'm trying to think what you could compare it to, UKwise, but my brain is fried right now. If I come up with something, I'll post it in a later chapter. Just know that you would love it if you tried it. And on with the story...
Dean looked up from the stacks of books and papers strewn around him and eyed Sam with irritation. "Dude, what the hell's your problem?" he snapped. "You've been jumpy ever since we got here, and I'm really getting sick of you staring at me every two minutes. What do you want?"
Bouncing his legs nervously under the table, Sam shrugged. "Sorry," he muttered, his refusal to make eye contact blatantly obvious. He looked around, scanning the shelves of the library as though he expected the books to fly at him the minute he looked away.
"Sam, what is it?" Dean demanded. "Just say it already."
Taking a deep, hesitant breath and letting it out slowly, Sam finally looked at Dean. "I-told-your-friends-we-would-meet-them-at-the-bar-tonight," he admitted, quickly stringing the words together in one long breath which he then held as he prepared himself for the attack.
As he'd expected, Dean's anger shot at him in a fiery blast. "YOU DID WHAT?"
Sam's face dropped, eyes giving the sincere apology that he feared his mouth would not. "They called the house this morning. Dean, they wanted to see you. What did you expect me to tell them?"
"You could have told them anything else," Dean accused. "Tell them we're busy. Tell them I'm too tired. Hell, Sam, tell them I moved to Beijing. I don't really care what you tell them as long as it isn't 'sure, we'll go'."
"You've never been too busy for them before," Sam protested, desperate to make Dean understand. "And the fact that you were alert enough to check yourself out of the hospital a day after waking from a coma is pretty much a sure fire guarantee that you aren't too tired. They want to see you, Dean. They're your friends for God's sake."
"No...Sam. They're not my friends. They're Dean's friends. Your Dean. I don't even know them."
"Maybe not, but they know you. And my Dean isn't here right now. You owe them at least this much. You owe me this much."
Dean sighed, his brain going into overdrive. Damn it, Sammy. Of all the things you could ask of me... "You don't understand, Sam. I don't do friends." His voice dropped, and Sam had to strain forward as Dean admitted a secret few would ever know. "I never really had friends."
Sam's mouth dropped a few centimeters and his eyebrows knitted together, deep in concentration.
"Don't look at me like that," Dean growled, finding the anger zone in his voice again.
"Like what?" Sam asked innocently.
"Like you pity me. Like you feel sorry for me. Don't. I never had time for friends."
The look of pity and concern didn't leave Sam's face easily, but he joined it with arched eyebrows and a slightly mischievous glean in his eye. "So here's your chance," he hinted, refusing to let Dean gain the upper hand.
"My chance for what?" Dean glowered, his face already buried back in the books again, determined to find an answer to his problems so he could escape from this nightmare.
"Your chance to have friends. Your chance to find out what it feels like to have other people care about you; people outside your family."
"But I don't know them," Dean repeated. His gaze returned to Sam, glaring determinedly at his younger brother. Drop it, Sam. Just drop it. Please.
"Maybe not. But they know you. And I can help."
As much as he hated to admit it, Dean could tell Sam was desperate. For whatever reason, Sam was determined to get Dean to the bar that night. It might be fun, his subconscious prodded. And at least you can get a beer. What's the worst that can happen? An exasperated groan escaped his lips. He might be willing to give in, but he sure as hell wasn't going to make it easy on the boy's conscience. "How are you going to help me?"
Sam beamed, eagerness exuding from him. "I'll coach you. And I won't leave your side all night, so you'll never not know anyone. They might think you're a little out of it, but they'll never know you're not their Dean. If we can fool Mom and Dad, I'm sure we can fool your friends."
Dean sighed, finally relenting to the pleading puppy dog eyes Sam had begun shooting at him. "Alright. Fine. So tell me what I need to know."
Sam began, sadness in his voice and some fear. He'd almost lost Dean in that accident, and the memories still haunted him. Dean had gone to a college football game, spending the better part of the morning drinking and tail-gaiting with frat buddies and other friends, and later watching the game. Their team won in an intense fight that led to a double overtime, and celebrations had continued long after the game. It was late when Dean had piled into the silver Mustang with four other friends. He wasn't driving. But he was drunk, and so was everyone else in the car, including Scott who had slid behind the wheel. Concern for their safety had been the farthest thing from everyone's mind as the car pulled onto the interstate for the twenty minute drive back home. The driver's foot had launched itself against the gas pedal, determined to cut their time in half. There was another party to get to, and more drinking to be had.
Sam didn't know exactly what had caused the accident, and the accounts from the other boys were foggy at best, but he outlined the details that were most clear. The car had swerved, whether to miss something or to realign itself with the road they didn't know, but Scott never managed to recover from the swerve and the car had plunged through the guardrail at ninety five miles an hour, rolling twice before landing on its roof twenty feet down the embankment. He'd never even tried to brake. It had taken close to three hours, twenty-six members of the cities emergency personnel, and the jaws of life to extract all five boys from the ball of crumpled metal that used to be recognizable as a car. Scott never made it to the hospital. And Dean was comatose before arriving in the ER.
Amazingly, the other three had all left the hospital the next day, but not without lasting injuries. Luke, Dean's best friend, had suffered a shattered knee cap and torn ACL topped off with several cracked ribs. Steven left with a broken collar bone and a broken nose. And Colin had spent four weeks in a neck brace from severe whiplash, combined with a cast for his broken wrist. None of the three had escaped concussion, and their bodies had been covered head to toe with nasty bruises and gashes.
As he finished describing the accident, Sam needed to pause, dropping his head heavily into his waiting hands. He rubbed his face, trying to hide moist eyes.
"It sounds horrifying," Dean voiced, shuddering at Sam's description.
"It was worse living it," his brother practically whispered. "We thought you were going to die. You almost did. Twice."
Gripping the wheels, Dean pushed himself around the table, stopping when he was facing the younger man. A hand reached out, settling itself comfortingly on Sam's knee. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault," Sam replied, still looking down, studying Dean's hand on his knee. "You weren't you."
"I know, Sam. But it was still painful for you. You have to know..." Dean's voice cracked as he remembered holding his Sam in his arms, dying. "I've been there," he said gently. "Where you were. Only...I didn't get your result. You– Sam...my Sam...he died. I held him in my arms and watched him die. There was nothing I could do. I've never felt so helpless in all my life."
The boy finally looked up at Dean, salty tear trails staining his cheeks. "So why...why do you want to go back there? From what you've told me, there's nothing left for you. Why don't you stay here?"
Dean shook his head, his face contorting into confusion. "Honestly, Sam, I don't know. I've been wondering that myself lately. But I can't make a decision until I know exactly what I'm up against. We have to keep at this for now."
Wiping the moisture from his eyes, Sam put on a brave face. He nodded, acknowledging that he understood, whether he agreed with it or not. And Dean felt it best to change the subject for the time being. "So this get together tonight...any reason why I can't call Laura and invite her to join us?" He grinned suggestively at his brother, eyebrows rising in rapid motion in trademark Dean fashion. Don't dwell on the bad. Make the bad good.
xxxxxxx
As the trio approached the neon lit entrance to the bar Dean allowed a half chuckle/half snort to emerge from his mouth and nose. He felt like he was experiencing a moment of de ja vous, but he couldn't share the humor with either of his companions because they hadn't been there. The bar they'd gone to, to celebrate Sammy moving a toe, had been called Jake's Bar. And the bar they were approaching now...Mike's Bar. Shoving himself toward the entrance, Dean contemplated issuing the same groaner joke he'd made that night, wondering if it would illicit identical responses. But in the end, he decided it was a part of his past that he didn't care to share; it was a rare moment of unadulterated laughter he and Sam had shared, and he felt it deserved to remain as such.
Before opening the door for him, Sam lay a hand his shoulder, halting Dean's forward momentum. "Remember," Sam warned. "Keep and ear out for my signals. I'll do my best to greet everyone of them by name, but some stuff may be out of my control. Just keep and eye on me and I'll get you all the information you need."
Dean nodded nervously, his knuckles white as he gripped the wheels of the chair. What the hell am I getting myself into. This better be worth it. He took a deep breath, plastering his face with a mask of confidence, amazed at his fear. He'd faced every kind of demon 'un'known to man. He'd voiced spells and incantations chanted only by the most powerful witches and sorcerers. He could chat it up with the best of them when he hustled pool and poker. But greeting the friendly faces of those considered his best friends absolutely terrified him.
"You think you're ready for this?" Laura crouched beside him, prying his fingers from the rim of the wheels and intertwining them in her own.
Her touch sent shockwaves of comfort and confidence through his body, and Dean managed to reassure himself. She's amazing. One touch, and I feel like nothing can hurt me. God, I love this girl. "Yeah," he answered, voice firm. "I'm ready. Let's do this."
Dean shoved through the door and immediately aimed himself toward the bar. If I'm gonna do this, I'm certainly not going through with it sober. But he didn't make it halfway before hearing his name shouted from the opposite side of the room. He spun, looking for where the voice had come from and immediately hearing Sam's voice in his ear. "The guy coming at you, with the cane, that's Luke. He's your best friend, so you definitely need to know his name."
Dean watched as the man made his way over to him, focusing more on the limping gait than the eager face. He couldn't make eye contact, afraid that his secret would come spilling out of him if he let the guy in. But Luke didn't care. He wasn't worried about what deep dark secrets were held in his best friends mind. All he cared about was that Dean was awake. Alive. Sitting right in front of him.
"Dean - man, it's great to see you!" he boomed, dimpled smile filling his entire face. "I can't believe you're out of the hospital already. You look great!" He leaned down, one arm wrapping around Dean's body and pounding him on the back as Dean stiffened. People didn't touch him. More specifically, guys didn't touch him.
He's your best friend, Dean forced himself to remember. You have to say something. "Luke, it's great to see you too. Um...how's the knee?"
Luke righted himself, hand tapping against the injured limb as he referred to it. "Still hurts, man. I've got another surgery and months worth of physical therapy before I can hope to walk norm–"
He hesitated, realizing what he'd said. Remembering his best friend was sitting paralyzed in a wheelchair. Knowing that Dean would never walk again, even with therapy. His hand drew to his mouth, eyes widening in embarrassed horror. "Oh my God, Dean, I'm so sorry. I just– I didn't mean–"
Dean held up a hand, successfully ending Luke's stammering. "It's OK. You don't need to censor yourself around me. I'm fine." He'd lied. He wasn't fine. He hated the fact that this guy was standing in front of him with a knee injury that would eventually heal when he couldn't even feel his knee. But that's what friends say to each other, right? They make each other feel better about themselves. They reassure each other.
Luke exhaled, relief written on his face. Dean had done his job. "Well then...why don't you introduce me to this lovely little lady you've got clinging to your shoulder. When the hell did you find time to find yourself a woman?"
Hand shooting up to join with Laura's, Dean paused, smirking inwardly. Well, you see, I came from another dimension where she was my girlfriend...
Laura spoke for him, voicing the first lie of the evening. "We knew each other years ago, and then we reconnected in the hospital. I was his nurse. I guess you could say it was just...meant to be. I'm Laura."
She accepted the hand Luke offered to her, grinning when he offered his own words of advice. "Keep a close eye on my friend here. He's got a wandering hand...if you know what I mean."
"I'll do my best," Laura assured him, proving her affection for Dean with a quick kiss on the cheek.
"So, come on over," Luke said, motioning them to follow him. "Everyone's here already, and they're dying to see you. We were all totally floored when Sam told us you'd checked yourself out of the hospital. I mean, dude, I knew you were pig-headed, but leaving so soon. That's crazy, man. But you look good. You do. You look really good."
Dean followed, tuning out Luke's rambling. Up ahead, he could see the welcoming grins as the rest of the group noticed them arrivign. And his mind was whirling with the thought of actually having a friend. Friends. Plural. Luke had settled into their comfortable relationship within seconds of spotting Dean. He actually didn't even have to settle into it. It just came naturally to him. Dean couldn't contain his smile. He had a family. A mother, and a father. Sam was alive. Laura was here. And now, he had friends. Life couldn't be better. So why couldn't he shake the nagging pull to return to his other life?