Disclaimer: "Supernatural" is not mine.
Author's Note: Thank you for all the reviews.
Hee. Okay, so remember that I'm-planning-a-four-chapter-story clause in chapter one? Yeah, go ahead and disregard—its looking more like six. ;)
It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. It just wasn't fuckin possible. Sam stared at Doug's back as the man returned to Dean—he'd just informed them gleefully that this was the guy with the car.
"Sam? Dude? What the hell?"
Jake shaking his shoulder did little to shake off the mantle of shock that had descended over him. It did nothing to shake off the numbness that was washing over him.
Dean is here…
He wasn't looking at Dean anymore, though—had torn his gaze away. He could feel it though—Dean's gaze… could feel it when the gaze fell away.
"Sam!" Mike's sharp voice, registered with him—barely.
He blinked; both his friends were staring at him with bewildered expressions, "You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost?"
He jumped, startled beyond words at the mention of ghost while Dean was in the room.
"Sam!"
"I'm fi-fine…" he muttered, his voice wooden, his heart thumping wildly.
He wasn't fine.
Dean is here…
"He can't be drunk…" he heard Mike say, "All he's had is soda…"
"Are you gonna hurl?" he heard Jake ask him anyway.
The world was spinning and it occurred to Sam that breathing might be help with that.
Slowly he took a deep breath and shook his head; forcing himself to calm down.
"No. No." he said, swallowing hard, trying to control the surge of emotions that was welling up inside. "I'm fine." He repeated no less woodenly.
"Yeah, uh-huh… sure. You look like your gonna pass out or something. Let's go sit back down—cause your ass is heavy to haul around." Jake grumbled.
"Hold-up," Mike stated, "Doug wants us to meet this remember…"
Jake rolled his eyes, "You only care 'cause he just told us it's the car guy…"
Mike stared at him, "Well, yeah." He deadpanned.
Sam felt a flare of panic when he looked up to see Doug and Dean heading toward them. The flare froze though, when he met his brother's gaze.
Dean's eyes were shuttered, closed-off… cold. He was looking at him like—like he'd never seen him before… as if they were strangers.
Tears stung his eyes suddenly, the words echoing in his mind— as if they were strangers…
"These are friends of mine," Doug was saying, "Jake Hurst, Mike Matthews and Sam Winchester… it was Sam's party that night."
His brother held out his hand towards—to shake. The way he'd shaken hands with Jake and Mike…
For a moment Sam stared at the extended hand, his breath hitching in something very close to a sob, but he clamped down on it with the efficiency of the hunter their father had trained.
He reached out and shook Dean's hand.
The contact stung and he went to pull back instantly, but Dean's grip tightened a fraction, "Ah…" he said, meeting Sam's gaze with an unreadable look, "The golden boy…" he murmured.
Doug laughed as Dean released him.
Sam stared at Dean.
"Kerrie called you that the night of the party—golden boy." Doug explained.
And Sam realized for the first time that Dean had known Doug and Kerrie were his friends.
The stinging behind his eyes intensified.
"Let's take a seat," Mike drawled, "You'll join us of course," he said to Dean.
"Of course," Dean responded.
Sam thought he might have heard a trace of mockery in his brother's voice—but he wasn't sure.
There was a time when he'd known every nuance of Dean's voice.
Sam hung back a moment as they headed towards the booth. Shaking his head—this couldn't be happening.
This couldn't be happening.
Dean could not be chatting with his friends—he could not be sitting there with them, he could not be looking at him like that— like he'd never seen him…
They couldn't be playing this game… it was ridiculous.
They couldn't sit together and talk and not… not be… not be brothers.
But apparently they could, because that's exactly what was happening. For the past twenty-two minutes he had listened as his friends and Dean talked about pool—its techniques and strategies.
He had sat here… trying to shake off that numbness, unable to get his thoughts to function properly. Vaguely, he noticed, that Dean basically recited everything you could find in a manual and none of the special Winchester techniques and strategies that made up his pool game.
Still the pool conversation was better than the direction they were currently heading in.
"We were just kinda scoping the area out," Mike responded; to a question that Sam apparently hadn't heard. It wasn't surprising, really; Sam was having a hard time hearing anything.
He felt like he was watching a dream sequence—
Thoughts, memories, words all slipping through his mind like sand through open fingers. He couldn't seem to hold onto single one…
The only thing he could focus on, the only thing he knew was Dean's voice. Dean who was sitting across from him to the left.
His brother's voice had changed—it was deeper, rougher. But then again—Dean himself was rougher somehow. There was an edge to him that hadn't been there when Sam had left.
And it added even more foreignness to this entire scene.
"Bachelor party arena's…" Jake's thumping him on the back, brought Sam's attention back to the present, "Sam's getting married in October." His friend announced and Sam felt his heart lurch.
Fuck. That was something he would have liked to have told Dean.
Dean's gaze was on him instantly; he could feel the heat of it. Numbly, he wondered if it was normal to feel his brother's gaze.
"Really?" Dean drawled, again in a tone Sam had no hope of deciphering.
He didn't say anything, didn't even nod. He just met Dean's gaze, asking for something he couldn't name, receiving an answer he couldn't understand.
"Congratulations are in order then," his brother added, tilting his beer towards Sam.
"Dude," Mike whispered, elbowing him in the ribs lightly.
"But I don't think Sam likes it here," Jake stated, picking up the train of conversation, and shooting Sam a reproaching look.
It registered in his still stunned mind that his friends thought he was being rude to Dean.
That was almost funny.
"What is it you said?" Jake continued, "That it was glossy?"
Dean choked on his beer, his fourth beer—courtesy of Mike, and arched an eyebrow at Sam.
It was the first real expression Sam had seen on his brother's face and it produced in him a real response, "Isn't it?" he asked, meeting Dean's gaze, latching on to the spark of something familiar he'd seen, "The counters are practically waxed." He pointed out.
"... the service is friendly…"
"... the floor's linoleum…"
"... the floor's clean…"
"Are we missing something here?" Doug asked, looking from one to the other.
And just like that— it was over; the moment gone. A shutter slammed shut over Dean's face and Sam nearly recoiled at the abruptness of it.
The table was silent, then Mike broached the topic that was behind his offerings of beer.
The Impala.
"Doug tells me you have a pretty sweet ride?" He stated.
Dean pulled his gaze away from Sam and fastened it on Mike; the he smirked, not saying anything— the shutters firmly in place.
"I have an interest in cars myself…" Mike continued and Sam nearly rolled his eyes.
He was going about it all wrong—too formal. Dean was probably itching to get away—
… to get away…
The words swirled in Sam's mind.
Is that what this was leading to? Where this going? Was he going to let Dean get up and just… leave? As if they'd just met? As if they weren't anything to each other?
The thought made him nauseous…
Laughter around him brought him back to the present. Dean was taking another drink, his smirk firmly in place. Jake and Doug were chuckling; Mike looked a little put out.
"You're the future lawyer here, Sam," Mike drawled after a moment, "Persuade Dean to let me take his car for a harmless spin; if I like it I might even make him an offer for it…"
Sam blinked uncomprehendingly at his friend for a moment— what?
Persuade Dean to do what?
To let someone else drive his car?
Was he insane?
His gaze shot to his brother.
Dean was watching him closely, golden eyes direct and intense.
He leaned back into the seat, a taunting smirk on his face that didn't reach his eyes, "Yeah, Sam," he drawled, in a voice that only Sam recognized the challenge in, "Go ahead… persuade me…"
The words echoed in Sam's mind for a moment, before they spontaneously combusted— stealing away the last remnants of numbness he felt.
His dark eyes flashed and he hoped to god that Dean could read the giant fuck you he was screaming in his head.
His brother wanted to play this game; this I-don't-know-you-we-just-met game…?
Fine.
Sam would play.
But it wasn't going to end with Dean leaving.
"What's the harm in letting him take it for a spin?" He stated, just because he knew that Dean hated calling the Impala it.
His brother's gaze was steady, "I don't let just anyone drive my car." You're friend isn't good enough to touch my baby.
Dean didn't say it, but Sam read it clearly in his gaze.
"I'm sure it's seen worse drivers than Mike here." Namely Dad.
An eyebrow arched, "Are you?" How the hell would you know anything?
"It would only be for a little while. Nothing will happen to it." Don't be an ass. Don't bring that up.
"A lot of things can happen in a short space of time." I haven't forgotten. You left us. Anything could have happened.
Sam swallowed hard, "Sometimes you just have to take a chance." I had to. I had to live for myself.
Dean's hazel eyes flashed, "There are things you just don't risk—not if care." You didn't care.
The accusation stung. Sam swallowed the lump in his throat; he was done with the unspoken words.
"It's just a car…" he stated, his voice deliberately flat, his fists clenching under the table, "It's not like its family."
Only his brother's eyes flinched at the barb, the rest of him remained perfectly impassive.
"Families are overrated," Dean stated, just as flatly, "Cars are much more reliable."
Sam's eyes flashed with anger and with hurt— his mind crying out that he didn't deserve that even as his heart whispered that maybe he did.
Doug cleared his throat suddenly, looking a bit nervous, "I'm sure… that, Mike doesn't need to—"
"Yeah, yeah… it was just a suggestion. I don't have to drive it…" Mike interrupted.
Jake nodded vigorously, "Everybody's particular about stuff like that. It's not like Mike needs another car."
"Yeah, Lace certainly wouldn't appreciate it."
"Not like I'd have time to drive it much either."
"Or garage space..."
"Yeah, exactly…"
Sam dimly heard their words, recognized that they had no idea what was going on, that they must be a little freaked out, actually—but he couldn't tear his gaze away from Dean's.
He just… couldn't. He had the feeling the moment he did Dean was going to grab his leather jacket and just… walk away.
"I'll play you for it." He heard himself say. Saw Dean's eyes widen, then narrow; felt his friends jump, then stiffen beside him.
"Play me?" Dean asked with a touch of arrogance and a helluva lot of incredulity.
"Uh, Sam… when I said persuade… I didn't mean…"
"Yeah." Sam stated, cutting off Mike's words, his gaze still fastened on Dean, "If I win… I get the keys, get to take it for a spin. If you win…" Sam paused, thinking for a moment, then shrugged, "… you choose." It was an old phrase, used between them all the time when they kids— challenging each other.
"Sam, are you… what's going on here?" It was Doug and his voice no longer held the pretense of understanding. He was confused and he was worried and his voice said that loud and clear.
There had too much familiarity in those words, Sam realized suddenly. Hell, the entire conversation had probably set off alarm bells in their minds. There were probably questions running rampant through all of them.
Question he would have to answer.
At the moment, though— he didn't care. At the moment he knew nothing, but Dean.
The older man shrugged, "Deal." What are you up to?
"Good." Come find out.
Truth was Sam had no idea what he was up to. He couldn't beat Dean. He'd never been able to beat Dean. He doubted that he'd be able to now. All he knew was that he didn't want his brother to just—walk away.
So tell him not to.
He swept the words aside; sliding smoothly out of the booth and heading for the pool tables.
"Have you lost your mind?" Jake demanded of him, grabbing his arm.
"You don't even know this guy!" Mike added, "What the hell kinda terms were those!"
"This is not a good idea, Sam." Doug added quietly.
He pulled his arm free and brushed past them, not responding. He couldn't waste thoughts at the moment. He had to concentrate.
Dean had already taken his jacket off by the time Sam reached the table. He was holding a cue stick, his eyes studying the billiards as if he hadn't played in years instead of an hour ago.
Sam picked up another cue stick.
"Sam!" Doug hissed, "What the hell is this?" The voice was pissed off this time.
Turning his head to look over his shoulder, Sam met Doug's gaze, and answered steadily, "Personal."
Then he turned his attention back to Dean who was watching him closely.
"You ready?" he asked his brother.
Dean stared at him for a long moment, before a genuine smile tugged at his lips, "Let's see what ya got…" he murmured, waving a hand towards the table, "You break."
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