Disclaimer: I do not own "Supernatural"
Author's Note: I'm so happy this companion piece was so well received! Thank you for the reviews; I loved every single one of them.
I apologize for the delay. Unfortunately, I knew exactly where I wanted this to go—just not how to get it there; swell, huh? ;-)
The next chapter is nearly finished. I will post it sometime this week. I hope you enjoy!
"The three of you are aware I'm not getting married for awhile, right?" Sam asked, as he followed his friends down the street. All three looked back at him, but for a moment no one said anything.
Then Jake shot him a grin, "Bachelor parties should never be left for the last minute."
Sam frowned, "But... that's kinda the point of them." He offered.
Jake rolled his eyes, slinging an arm around Sam's shoulders, "But if you wait till the last minute—you can only have one…!"
"You're only supposed to only have one," Sam countered.
"You seriously only want one night of freedom and debauchery?" Jake asked, his eyes widening comically.
"Yeah, a lot debauchery around here…" Doug quipped, looking around the quiet neighborhood.
"Shut-up," Jake hissed.
Mike chuckled, "We're just getting some practice in for the real thing, Sam," he offered, grinning as they crossed the street.
"As the future best man I have to start scoping these things out," he added after a moment.
Jake scowled, "Like hell you are! I'm the best man. I've known him the longest!"
"No way! I had that class with him freshman year!"
"Yeah… second semester freshman year! I had that poetry class with him first semester!"
Doug nodded, "I remember that! With Tork!"
"Anybody wanna go inside or we gonna discuss this out here?" Sam asked wryly.
"You weren't in that class," Mike stated, opening the door and glaring at Doug.
Doug scowled back, "I remember taking Tork with Sam."
"Dude, you weren't in that class."
"You just don't want me to be the competition for you best-man-hood."
"You are not competition, is he Sam?"
"Sam never said you were best man." Jake interrupted.
"I was in that class. I remember it had… poetry… or math… it had those tests with the quotes…"
Sam sighed rolling his eyes as they headed for a booth in the bar, "Tork was math."
Doug frowned, "I distinctly remember poetry."
"That was Tarken." Sam said as they slid into the booth, "Tarkin taught Poetry and Drama. Tork taught Calculus."
Doug blinked at him, then scowled, "How do you remember shit like that?"
Having the words, forgetting a detail could get us killed, emblazed into your soul by the age of twelve, probably helped.
He didn't voice that thought though—probably wouldn't go over too well. Instead he grinned, "I pay attention."
"Can we drink now?" Jake asked, "Because really… it's why I came?"
"Yeah, why did we come out here?" Sam asked looking around, "We have bars in Palo Alto…"
"Because unlike you bums I had to work today and didn't feel like driving to meet you," Mike replied motioning for a waitress, "And this place is new so I wanted to check it out."
"It's not bad," Jake commented.
"Big…" Doug murmured, motioning towards the other side of the room where a large group of people were congregated.
"Kinda, uh… glossy, don't ya think?" Sam asked, frowning as he looked around some more.
He received three strange looks for that adjective, but was spared from having to hear anything about it by the waitress.
She smiled at them, with a warmth that was entirely unaffected.
"Busy tonight…" he commented after telling her what he wanted.
She nodded, "Yeah. It is Saturday…"
"What's goin on over there…" Jake asked, motioning towards the group of people.
"Impromptu pool tournament or something," she commented shrugging, then smiled again, "There's this guy… he sorta started it and he's just… amazing."
"Amazing, huh?" Jake drawled, "You should see me play, darlin..."
Sam rolled his eyes and chuckled softly when he saw the girl do the same thing, "Go on over and give it a shot." She stated, "He's been cleaning people out for hours now..." she added.
The guys placed their orders; Sam ordered a soda—plain.
Doug scowled, "What the hell?" he asked.
"Maybe you didn't get the point of this little excursion—drinking alcohol." Jake replied.
Sam shrugged, eyeing them with innocence, "I have a quiz on Monday."
"It's Saturday." Mike reminded him.
Sam said nothing.
"Will that be all?" the girl asked, drawing their gazes to her as another round of laughter rose from the corner of the bar.
Sam nodded, "Yeah, thanks."
"How long's that been going on?" Doug asked, before she could leave.
She shrugged, "An hour maybe; it started off small. Two guys against one—and the one won. So then other people stepped up. They started playing for money—it just sort of escalated." She shrugged, "No one's beat him yet."
Sam watched her go, before turning to Jake, "'you should see me play', you call that a pick-up line?" he asked sarcastically.
Jake scowled and opened his mouth; Mike beat him to it, "Explains why he's single, don't it?"
"So do his looks," Doug quipped.
Sam sighed softly as the guys then began the usual diatribe of insults that accompanied any of their excursions. The waitress came back and gave them their drinks, people wandered away from the impromptu pool tournament, people wandered towards it, the news droned on and Sam wondered why he'd let himself get talked into this.
An image of Jess's pointed blue eyes suggesting that he go with the guys tonight flashed in his mind. He'd been reviewing notes when the phone had rung, by the time he'd come out to the living room to see who it was she'd been holding the phone to her ear and nodding almost eagerly.
He should have known that her intervention would extend all day. She had dropped the subject of his family all morning, though. Still it had hovered in the air, almost a threat.
He'd caught her staring at him a few times, with that speculative gleam in her eyes, but she'd only grinned when he'd met her gaze and they'd spent the day in what would be considered by most as mundane errands.
He lowered his eyes to his soda, the noise around him fading as he remembered today. Post office, grocery store, dry cleaning-- they were more than mundane errands to him; they were a slice of domestic bliss—of "normal" and he relished them as much as others cursed them.
A bitter smirk tugged at his lips and he raised the glass to his mouth, he would never truly be normal, not as long as he relished every moment of it he lived.
It had been Jake on the phone. They all wanted to get together tonight, did Sam want to come? Jess had answered for him.
Something he would usually be annoyed about—but when he'd met those blue eyes he'd read his options quite clearly: either go out with the guys and behave like you usually do or stay home with me and answer my questions, because I'm sick of this brooding bullshit—no contest really.
"Right, Sam?"
He shot his gaze upwards as Jake's sharp voice was accompanied by a light punch in the arm.
He blinked at him, "What?"
"Say no."
"Say yes."
"Dude, trust me—say no."
They were all grinning like idiots. Sam rolled his eyes, "Any of you plannin to grow up anytime soon?" He asked.
"Just 'cause you got yourself shackled doesn't mean the rest of us have to bite that particular real-world bullet." Mike drawled.
"I'm tellin Lace you said that," Jake countered.
"Not if you wanna live…" the man growled.
Jake opened his mouth to reply when a round of laughter sounded from the other side of the room.
"Let's go take a look…" Doug murmured, his eyes on the crowd.
"Yeah, let's see you put those amazing skills to work," Mike taunted at Jake.
Doug threw his head back and laughed as he slid out of the booth, "Let's see you beat Sam."
Sam groaned, "I am not playing." He stated firmly.
No way was he playing pool on a day when his family weighed so heavily on his mind—on a day when Jess had called Dean, sweet.
It was like taunting fate or something…
"Aw Sam, come on… don't you want to test Jake's amazing pool-playing skills?" Mike continued.
Doug laughed, rolling his eyes, as they slowly made there way past other customers and towards the crowd, "You've played pool, what? Seven times, your entire life?" he asked Jake.
Jake scowled, "I can kick all your asses!"
"Sam can beat your ass with one hand." Mike drawled, "You know it!"
"I'm not playing…" Sam repeated, bringing his glass up to his lips.
"Come on Sam, show'm up," Doug encouraged.
"Dude, its not my fault pool is the only hobby, Sam has," Jake griped.
Sam scowled opening his mouth to dispute that.
"Naw, he has Jess too." Mike added, before Sam could speak. Sam transferred his scowl to the other man.
"Jess isn't his hobby; she's his one true wuv," Doug remarked, grinning.
"Don't be jealous 'cause Kerrie refuses to commit," Sam taunted, causing the other man to scowl.
"She's committed." Doug hissed.
"That's not what the waiter at that cafe she and Jess go to thinks," Sam added.
"Do you want another beer?" Jake asked the still scowling man, slinging an arm around Doug's shoulders, "To drown the sorrows of the played in?"
The teasing continued for a few more minutes. They stopped at the counter and ordered another round of drinks. Again Sam ordered soda. Again the guys stared at him like he was an alien.
He shrugged, smiling as he brought the glass to his lips. Getting drunk on a day when Dad and Dean had been haunting his thoughts was not a good idea. He couldn't afford for anything to slip.
The intension was still to head over to the pool tables, but by unspoken agreement they'd decided to wait till the crowd thinned a little.
It didn't happen till a little past midnight. The ring of people thinned so that occasionally you caught glimpses of the pool tables, of cue sticks, of racks…
Doug was the first to stand, he was eager to take a look. Competitions of any kind were always of interest to him. The others followed. Sam hung back a moment.
Honestly, he was pretty much ready to call it a night. Hell, he was ready to call it a day. It had been an unusually long day. The conversation with Jess this morning, although lasting less than an hour, had occupied his mind all day.
And watching a bunch of buzzed twenty-something-year-olds "playing" pool wasn't high on his list of priorities. Pool, like poker, was just something too closely intertwined with memories of his family.
He'd known how to play both by the time he was seven. He'd known how to hustle with both by the time he was eleven. Of course no one knew that. If he'd had his way no one would know he could even play pool.
But he'd been in a mood one day and had wandered into one of the rec centers on campus. It had stood there, silent and gleaming-- the billards table-- and he hadn't been able to stop himself. He'd racked them and he'd played. By himself—for hours.
It was funny; but somehow it had made him feel better. He told himself it was the familiar sounds of it and the concentration it required of him that had done it, that had relaxed him— inside, he knew though,that it had been something else.
It had been the memory of Dean's voice coaching him through the steps, the tricks, the moves that had relaxed him.
Their Dad had taught Dean to play and Dean had taught Sam.
It was that simple.
When he played pool he felt like Dean was there with him. He could hear him there… and whether he liked to admit it or not—that was surprisingly important to him, surprisingly necessary to him.
It had happened unexpectedly; Jess and a few others had trailed him, found him… watched him as he made nearly every shot.
He hadn't noticed them until it was too late. He should have, of course. His training should have told him when they were approaching—but he'd been concentrating on the game, on the memories of an eleven year old boy carefully coaching his eight-year-old brother on how to play eight-ball, on the smiles and laughter that particular lesson had encouraged in them both.
By the time he'd felt the weight of their glances a small crowd had gathered, watching him.
His "secret" was out and even Jess and been surprised that he could play like that. No one had let him forget it since; even though he'd made sure to never get caught playing again.
Pool had never really been a game to him—at least not once he'd actually learned it.
Learning had been a game. Dean had made it one; but then Dad had stepped in— and for Dad pool was a survival skill, not a game.
"You coming? Or has all that soda gone to your head?" Jake asked, wryly.
Sam blinked, pulled out of his thoughts, shaking them away; he grinned, "I'm coming. I want to see you use those skill… I bet that waitress does to…"
Jake rolled his eyes, "Okay, so maybe I spoke a bit hastily—"
"A bit?" Mike drawled, from Sam's other side, bringing a beer bottle to his lips, "Dude—you lied. You suck at pool."
Doug joinedthe thin crowd still watching the game, peering over them. The others approached him from behind, still grinning.
Sam admitted to himself that it was good to be out with his friends; to banish thoughts of the past away and have their teasing to ensure the thoughts stayed at bay.
Doug swerved around to face them abruptly, a grin splitting his face, "Well I'll be damned," he announced, almost jovially. Before turning back and shoving his way past the crowd.
The three blinked at his back. Jake let out a chuckle, "Uh… okay…" he drawled, "And you guys think I'm the weird one…"
Sam laughed, shaking his head and bringing his glass up to his lips, "The entire lot of you are weird." He commented, following in Doug's path.
"I resent that." Mike responded, walking next to him, "I'm a pretty normal guy…"
"I don't resent it." Jake offered, grinning, "… normal's highly overrated."
Sam rolled his eyes; grinning as he ignored the irony of his friends' words. He turned to scan the crowd for Doug.
His friend was standing on the far side of the pool table directly across from Sam. Doug was talking, smiling, his eyes fastened on the man standing next to him.
A man whose gaze was fastened on Sam.
Sam's smile froze in place, his body froze in place; hell, his breath froze as his gaze collided with a pair of hazel eyes he'd once known as well as his own.
The world spun away from him, fading into the background; voices hummed indistinguishably, the glass slipped from his fingers as every molecule in his body suddenly buzzed with one thought, one word: Dean.
It had been easy. Much too easy; his father would have told him to cut out hours ago, that he was wasting his energy, time, and talent on clueless yuppies.
But his father wasn't here and Dean was bored. Boredom led to thoughts… thoughts he didn't want to have. So he had stayed and he had played. At first it had been for himself— just to pass the time, but people had started to gather,to challenge him— he was never one to pass up a challenge.
The entire thing had turned into a show of sorts, the attention bothered him; the cash he was winning not so much. Cash was always good. Candy from a baby, had come to mind more than once. He wasn't even exerting himself. Still, he wasn't comfortable with being under so much scrutiny.
Although he sincerely doubted he had anything to concern himself over here. For christsake, they'd switched the "music" to something like emo rock hours ago… it was all he could do not to take a cue stick to their sound system.
He sighed softly, smirking as his latest "opponent" handed over forty bucks.
He was tempted to murmur good game or something—but it just hadn't been, so he didn't. Instead he tucked the money away with the rest he had earned and grinned. The crowd had thinned—a blessing he supposed.
"It's been fun," he lied to the people watching, "But I'm callin it a night."
"You ever thought of playin pro?" Someone asked, others nodded in agreement, looking at him inquiringly.
Dean contained the urge to roll his eyes, barely. He answered the question somewhat politely, setting the cue stick down, reaching for his jacket.
He needed to get back on the road…
"I'll be damned!"
The good-humored voice seemed to ricochet off the walls and into his gut—he knew that voice; his shot upwards just as a familiar looking man reached him.
"… what are the chances," the man continued, "... of us runnin into each other again!"
Dean stared at him a moment, a chill sweeping over his body, as he put a name to the face… as he put a place with the name and face.
Doug.
Sam's friend.
"Pretty good, apparently," He muttered, doing his best to pull up a smile.
"And in two different towns!" Doug continued, grinning, "Dude, you disappeared on us! Not that I can blame you or anything…"
Dean blinked a little, then almost groaned; what was it with this guy and talking…
"… Ker and I did take forever I know," the other man continued, and looked like he was going to continue, and Dean just could not deal with that, right now.
"Listen," he interrupted, flashing a grin, "Uh, Doug, right?" At the other man's nod, Dean continued, "I was just heading out, but it was uh, good runnin into ya again…" he commented.
When Doug opened his mouth to speak, Dean cut him off, still smiling, "Don't worry 'bout the other night—everything turned out fine." He told himself to stop there, to get away; but just like the other night, his mouth wasn't listening, "… you had a good time? With your friends?"
The words sounded ridiculous to him. Why should he care? He didn't care… except that he… sort of did... because— Sam was one of Doug's friends…
Doug nodded, "Yeah, we had a good time… hey!" he said, grinning, motioning with his hand across the pool table towards the edge of the crowd, "—come have a drink with us…"
Dean's gaze followed the motion, followed it to the edge of the crowd, followed it to where three young men stood—talking, laughing…
A deep, cold dread unfurled itself from the pit of his stomach and his eyes widened as he found himself staring across at his little brother…
Sam was standing there— a glass in his hand, a smile on his face and Dean felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him— he looked so happy, so free…
The world faded away, voices blurred together as he watched Sam turn and scan the crowd—as Sam's gazecollided with his…
Time seemd to stop and Dean watched as Sam's eyes widenedthe same wayhis had moments earlier, watched as recognition slammed into the younger man leaving him as pale and shaken as it had left Dean.
The shattering of glass is what re-started time. He jumped, startled; he saw Sam jump, startled.
Suddenly the world around sped up— the voices, colors, noises of the bar intruded upon the cocoon that had temporarily enveloped them both.
People backed away shooting odd glances at Sam, his friends frowned at him, clasping hands on his shoulders—asking if he was alright. Waitresses hurried forward to clean up the mess. Vaguely Dean acknowledged that Doug had moved away from him.
It was Sam who tore his gaze away first; and when he did Dean felt a whoosh of air leave his lungs, the world spun, and stumbled back a little. His thought buzzed suddenly and his instinct to run flared.
He shouldn't be here. Sam didn't want him here. He shouldn't be here…
The world continued to spin and it occurred to him suddenly that breathing might help with that.
Slowly, he drew in a deep breath and exhaled carefully; forcing himself to calm down.
The swell of emotion rising up in him made that a lot easier said than done though.
Sammy is here.
His mind screamed, his thoughts whirled uncontrollably… memories unbidden rising up in him…
Sammy is here…
The words fluttered through his mind again and he nearly growled; no, he thought suddenly, Sammy didn't exist.
Not anymore.
Inhaling and exhaling yet another slow breath, Dean used the memory of the words hurled around that night, the image of his brother walking out the door, to squelch the tide of emotions.
He used the memory of those dark eyes filled with fury and disgust and the two years of unanswered phone calls to silence the whispers of Sammy is here.
Sammy didn't exist.
So when Doug ambled over to him again and drew him towards the group of three for an introduction—Dean was able to pull up a smile and shake hands with Jake Hurst, Mike Matthews, and... Sam Winchester.
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