AN: This is a short casefic that is an expansion of a chapter in my version of Whumptober. (Chapter 10 if anyone cares.) Even though I originally pictured it in a later season, I've decided to put it in season 1 just because I'm feeling nostalgic.This is just an introduction with a bit of brotherly bonding because I said so. LOL

The boys have just come from facing down the Hookman and are following coordinates they assume came from John.

Travails, Oregon, was a rather nice little town, Sam thought. As he researched the area, he idly wondered why anyone would give it that name. It was bounded by deciduous forests with a few low mountains in the distance. And it had somehow avoided the cookie cutter appearance of most tiny towns. It had meandering streets of houses interspersed with small businesses, most of which were not chain stores. It even seemed like most people were actually walking and biking to their destinations. Sam had noted a surprisingly large library, too, which was always a plus for him. And maybe the best part was there were no motels, so they'd had to rent a cabin.

The space was glorious. Not to mention the quiet. With Dean gone to find food, the only sounds Sam heard were his tapping keys and the evening sounds of the forest. The sound of a familiar, unapologetically throaty purr made Sam smile. He'd missed his brother more than he ever could have imagined while he was at Stanford. Hell, sometimes he'd be studying or walking to class, and he'd imagine he heard the Impala. He missed his dad, too, eventually. But it hadn't been anything like the bone-deep ache he felt for his big brother.

Sam quickly went back to his work before Dean came in, lest the latter read his thoughts in his eyes. Heaven forbid they actually express emotion.

Dean came in with far more food than they needed for one meal, and Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Flirting for food again?"

Dean shot him such an innocent, shocked look that 99% of the world would have been taken in. But Sam could see his eyes twinkling and couldn't help but grin in response. Truth be told, Dean had been using his smile to garner extra helpings of food as long as Sam could remember. And when they were both young, he hadn't been above utilizing Sam's adorableness either.

"Are you going to actually eat some of it?" Dean demanded instead of responding, which was an answer in and of itself. He was under the impression that Sam didn't eat enough. Sam was mourning Jess and used to living on a college student's budget. So it was possible that Dean had a point. Not that Sam would say it out loud.

Sam answered by taking a bite of his chicken wrap. "Wow, that's…that's really good." It wasn't drowned in mayo, and the chicken was grilled and plentiful.

Dean grinned triumphantly. "The diner has actual old ladies cooking, not a 300 lb chain smoker named Hank wearing a greasy wifebeater."

The food was good enough that they ate in silence for a while, then Sam wiped his mouth with a napkin and woke up the laptop. He ignored Dean's pointed look at his fries, plenty full. "So I was able to get into the police database and get a look at the bodies, and they were totally skinned. Not flayed, skinned."

Dean looked disgusted but didn't stop eating. "Vat's diff'nce?"

Sam didn't even bother to look annoyed or pretend he couldn't interpret. "This was done by somebody with skill, slowly and carefully, with something really sharp. Really sharp."

Dean swallowed, joking gone. "Were they still alive?"

"We can ask that tomorrow. And maybe we should think about looking into any local surgeons."

Dean's mouth pinched. There wasn't much he hated more than people that were supposed to be helpers hurting their charges instead. But all he said was, "Wanna hit the bar tonight?"

Sam glanced up, a little surprised at how good that sounded. They'd traveled right from St. Louis to eastern Iowa to here without a break, stopping only to sleep a few hours a night. While Sam didn't drink much or troll for women, he didn't mind just hanging out with his brother at a bar sometimes. "Yeah, sounds good."

The surprise – and joy – that lit Dean's face made Sam feel guilty. His brother was easy to please. And for some reason, it made him happy to sit in a bar, the skankier the better, with Sam. Sam didn't delude himself that he was actually good company. Most of the time, he sat and read or researched. But the fact was, Dean liked it when he came. He really ought to agree to go more often. Jessica's death still rode Sam hard, but that didn't mean he couldn't sit at a bar with Dean.

"Awesome. I need like five minutes," grinned Dean, popping into the bathroom. Sam took the opportunity to stretch and rotate his ankle. When the hookman had tossed him against the wall, he'd sprained his ankle. At the time, he'd been focused on the stab in his arm and hadn't even noticed, but it had swelled up considerably over the last two days of driving. Mostly by sheer luck, he'd somehow hidden it from Dean, but it had really stiffened today. He heard the sink run at climbed to his feet so he could test the ankle before walking on it. It wasn't too bad.

Dean came out, pulling off his outer shirt to change. "I just need a sec to hit the head," said Sam.

"Kay. Then I'll wrap that ankle for you."

Sam huffed a little, but didn't argue. Of course Dean knew.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Dean laughed out loud at Sam's latest story. While the kid didn't talk about Jessica yet, he was starting to share some things from his time at Stanford, particularly about his buddy Luis. Turns out Luis was a great guy, but had been raised – cosseted, really – in a wealthy family, and was clueless about many things. And his determination to do everything on his own had led to some truly hilarious situations. In fact, Sam had met the guy when Luis was trying to figure out a washing machine.

"So he seriously started a fire because he tried to dry his socks in the oven?"

Sam was grinning back at him, actually drinking his beer (his third!) instead of just playing with it. It was amazing. If Sam had wanted to talk about astrophysics, Dean would have taken it just for this time together. But it turns out, Sam was a natural story teller. Dean didn't know if it was the setting or the alcohol or what, but baby brother wasn't rambling on like normal.

When the pretty thing that had been eyeing them from the bar strolled over, Dean was actually disappointed. "Looks like you boys are having fun over here," she flirted, including both men in her smile. "Mind if I join you?"

Dean gave her a megawatt smile. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but maybe another time. See, my brother's been off at school and we're catching up." Never mind that they'd been together for a couple months now. "Believe me, it's nothing against you."

She must have read his sincerity, because she looked disappointed but not upset. "I get it. My sis lives in Cleveland, and I don't see her nearly as often as I'd like. What school?"

"Uh, Stanford," offered Sam softly. Dean hid a grin. Sam was still shy around pretty girls. It was a miracle he'd somehow found the courage to ever talk to Jess.

This pretty girl cocked an eyebrow. "Smart too. Huh. Well, if you guys are in town for a while, give me a call. Either of you. Or both." She wrote her number on a napkin and set it on the table with one more smile. She really was pretty, and both brothers watched her walk back to the bar.

Dean looked back and realized Sam was now watching him with a stupid, gooey expression. "Look at, uh," Dean glanced at the napkin, "Lacey like that and I bet she'll come right back."

Sam's face curled into that slow, sappy smile. A real smile, the one that was so rare. Dean knew it was because he'd turned down the girl just to spend an evening drinking with his brother.

Sam didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. "Shut up," growled Dean.