Dean was not going to cry, dammit. He was a grown man, not some … some schoolgirl, mourning the loss of her first boyfriend. He swiped at his eyes and situated himself behind the wheel of the old Impala.
Felt like home. Felt like … like he belonged there. And that was good because apparently Sam, the kid he had mostly raised and would happily die for, had cut him loose. At least there was somewhere left that still felt right.
Sam had washed his hands of him, and truthfully, Dean didn't blame him. What he'd done was pretty unforgivable, he'd just … he'd thought … He and Sam had been through stuff like this before. They'd fight, and they'd each say things they regretted and didn't mean. But they'd always listened to each other. When one or the other was ready to apologize, it was always met with an open ear.
Neither of them had ever tossed the other one out into the cold night, saying he never wanted to see his brother again.
Well, til now anyway.
Dean cursed. He rounded the corner for home, and there was the bar just like it was waiting for him. For having spent a lot of time in this town as a teen, Dean had never had much opportunity to explore the nightlife. He'd usually been too busy hunting a fugly, chauffeuring Sammy to a science fair or visiting one of the numerous libraries around town to research the next case. There hadn't been a lot of time, growing up, to concentrate on the things he enjoyed doing himself.
He wished Sam could remember back that far because Dean had spent a hell of a lot of time picking his brother up and dropping him off for about seven years straight there.
Maybe Sam had the right idea about the old gang splitting up. Maybe it was time he took a little downtime and just sewed some wild oats.
The bar in Dean's headlights was one of the initial three that he'd searched that first night he'd first come to town looking for his brother. He'd liked it instantly. He remembered it had an air of anonymity that Dean appreciated. The oldest Winchester was all about the don't ask, don't tell, after all.
Maybe he'd just chase down a couple cold beers and a hot brunette and let the world blow up around him.
On a whim, he pulled over and stepped out, locking the Impala behind him. He stretched - long and loud - then headed inside, completely missing the old man with the long gray hair who stepped out of the old truck behind him.
###
Sam looked around, smiling. The bar was … appropriate. Sam had been avoiding places just like this for months, fearing he'd look up one day and suddenly see Dean at the pool tables, but the older boy hadn't been round in weeks, hadn't tried to call … nothing. Sam was sure Dean finally realized what Sam had meant when he'd asked him to leave and not come back. .
And a good night of blowing off steam was overdue. Sam worked hard all day, he deserved a Friday night celebration once in awhile. He sat up to the bar and smiled at the bartender when she made eyes at him. She sat the whiskey down in front of him and lingered. Sam was considering the offer when the conversation off to his right caught his ear.
" … find out?"
"We locked up some old guy, Merrill."
"Think he did it?"
Sam glanced sideways to see an older man, still dressed in his state police uniform, sigh and sit back. "Think he's good for it. Kid's uncle said Merrill had been by, threatening him."
"What about?"
"Some business deal that went wrong. Kid backed out on him or something." The cop stretched, "Damn. It's been a long two weeks. That case - it's all anyone can talk about. Never been so glad to arrest someone in my life.
Sam frowned; his hand holding the whiskey glass trembled.
"You made the arrest?"
"Yep. Guy wasn't local, stayin' at that old motel on the end of town. Cold bastard too. Wore solid black contacts, freakiest shit I ever saw. It was a shame. The kid was only in his thirties."
"You caught that one, right?"
The cop tossed back his whiskey, "Wish I hadn't. Nineteen years on the force and never saw that much blood at a scene. Whole damned alley was painted in it. If that kid lives, I'll be surprised. Son of a bitch who did that was one cold fucker."
"They say when he'll get out of the hospital?"
The cop shook his head, grinning, "Damned fool kid checked himself out like three days later. Headed back to that old salvage yard out on 40 with his uncle. If he don't die from the six stab wounds, it'll probably be infection or tetanus that gets him."
The other guy snorted, "Funny."
But the old cop sobered, "No, it wasn't funny at all. Probably the saddest thing I ever seen. This poor kid in agony, blood pouring out every side of him, and he keeps calling out for his brother. Whoever did it just left him there lying in the alley next to the damned dumpster like they took him out with the trash. Worst part of all? Kid was in the hospital for four days, nearly dyin', just him and the old uncle. The brother never did show up."
