an:/
we get to mark the halfway point in the boy's relationship with this chapter. Hopefully well past the halfway point of the story- because holly crap, it's almost 100k words and at this point and what am I even doing with my life?
Almost 200 pages of boys pointedly not kissing.
I have no idea why you guys put up with this nonsense.
But I love you for it.
There were probably very heterosexual ways to share a couch with another guy while watching a movie. However, this was not one of those ways. And in part, that saddened Sam, that a month and a half into this fake relationship all pretenses of normality had been pushed aside in favor of embracing their collectively fabricated gayness- even when no one was around to witness it.
But another part of him was just plain comfortable. This was the part that craved human contact. The part of him that instigated wrestling matches with Dean. That insisted that he pull his uncle Bobby into rib crushing hugs every time he saw him. That made it ok that he and Nick kissed each other on the cheek more often than they told each other goodbye.
He understood that this friendship was running under different rules than a friendship typically would. It was ok though. It was 'normal' in its abnormality. If only because they started off this dance on the wrong foot, it felt right to keep going with the same jarring, unnatural rhythm.
Sam was stretched out, long as he could be, toes dangling over the far arm of Nick's couch. He was on his side, partially so he could see the tablet propped up on the battered coffee table, partially because it was the only way that he and Nick could both fit.
Nick was on his back, his side molded to Sam's chest, bone and sinew and muscles, pressing together as close as they could be... because it made it easier for them to both fit on the couch… He kept one hand on his stomach and one hand up over his head where he could play with Sam's hair while they watched a teenage girl running through an abandoned mine from an ax wielding maniac.
The movie wasn't doing much for Sam. Most of the slasher flicks that Nick picked for them fell a bit flat. But he wasn't here because he liked the cinematic choices. He was here because he had intended to go home three hours ago but the rain was coming down outside like it was the end of days, complete with flood warnings and thunder and hail that beat against the windows like gunshots. Sam had chosen life over being pelted with ice and drowned in the streets.
"If she has claustrophobia then why did she go down the mine in the first place?" Sam felt like he'd been asking roughly the same overly obvious questions for the past hour's worth of movie. But there was little to no logic in this particular film.
"She's got to prove herself, because chicks are just as strong and brave as men. It's supposed to be empowering."
"Then why is she dressed like that?"
"Because it would be a shame to cover those fantastic breasts of hers anymore than we have to- especially after she spent so much money on them."
"You're an ass." He pointed out even if they both already knew it.
Nick only chuckled and tugged on Sam's hair.
Now, for the record, Sam had no inclination that he would enjoy having someone play with his hair as much as he did. It had been a stunning realization to him on Christmas day. He and Nick had taken a post-present nap on the couch, and true to form, Nick had made a point to stay tucked as close as humanly possible once they had woken, most likely to make his family uncomfortable. Or to make Sam uncomfortable. It was hard to tell. Either way he had been successful. If it hadn't been for the way those fingers felt digging into Sam's scalp, or the almost anesthesia like quality of the slow touching, he was positive he would have slipped out from the shelter of Nick's arm, escaped the warmth of his chest and neck. But it had been a good show for the family members who came and went from the living room. The two of them tucked against each other, whispering and touching. Well worth the sacrifice.
It was an Oscar worth performance.
Too bad Sam was a method actor and Nick had caught on to just how into it the younger man had been.
For the two weeks following Christmas he had taken almost any opportunity in their down time to get his good hand tangled in the hair at the nape of Sam's neck, just leaning close and touching and tugging while they talked. And they always talked about stupid things. The same sorts of stupid things that they had been using to occupy their mouths for the last six weeks. Just now with added petting.
And Sam was positive that every time Dean walked in on them, his brother was convinced that he was interrupting something far more intimate and indecent then he actually was.
Sam could only guess what they must look like.
He let his eyes droop, resting his head on the armrest, listening to the movie more than watching it. But it was all dramatic swells of music and feeble screams and gasps. He didn't really need to see what was going on to follow the story.
Nick coaxed the girl in the movie, telling her to run faster, or look behind her, but it all carried a mocking undertone and they both knew that she probably wouldn't survive to see the end credits. But this is how he was with movies. So encouraging. So hopeful. So sarcastic.
With the arm that wasn't trapped beneath him, Sam raised a hand and touched Nick's wrist pulling it away from where the sharp plastic of the beaded bracelets were knocking against his jaw. Now, Sam thought that it was absolutely adorable that Nick would still wear the jewelry that his nieces made for him weeks later, especially considering the sheer amount of pink that had been used- but that didn't mean that he had to enjoy the molded edges repeatedly nudging into his skin.
Nick hesitated, stopping halfway through saying "Don't hide in there, you dumb broad," the words sort of trailing off. He shrugged a bit, his shoulder bone rolling slick against Sam's chest, before he twisted his fingers just a little tighter into the younger man's hair, tugging hard enough to haul his head to the side.
"There's got to be better things for her to hide behind." Nick informed with his calm, low voice. "It's a fucking stalagmite."
"Stalactite." Sam corrected, letting his eyes close all the way as Nick pulled even harder. "Stalagmites are the ones that go up." Sam kept on, because he was also an ass and didn't care if Nick didn't like being corrected.
"Whatever you say, Mister College." He loosened up just a bit and went back to his slow petting.
Sam kept his eyes closed and let his fingers trace the beads, clicking them together softly. It was a much more pleasant sound than the girl in the movie getting a pick ax driven into her with a moist thwack. He counted the beads, and then followed the clean line of muscle down Nick's forearm, tracing slow lines and feeling the soft hairs beneath his fingertips. It seemed strange to him that, knowing there was a mess of lines and colors dug into the flesh, that it would be so smooth.
Around the soft inside bend of Nick's elbow Sam found an imperfection. A round, slick, piece of devastation, that had to be a scar of some kind. He discovered two more, slow and carefully investigating each one without ever seeing them.
"Chickenpox scars?" He asked after a bit, thinking of the one that Dean had on the back of his left shoulder.
"Cigarette burns." Nick answered without any feeling.
Sam lifted his fingers, feeling his body recoil in response.
"Calm down." Nick chuckled in a way that felt horribly inappropriate for the situation. "They're not the product of an abusive childhood or anything. Just mementos from a psycho ex."
Sam opened his eyes and sat up just a bit on an elbow, actually looking at the man's arm. It was hard to find the scars amidst all the tattoos, just holes in the grand design, glossy circles that were just a little too pink.
"Oh my god, Nick."
"It was like, a hundred years ago." He turned his head to look up at Sam. "It's not a big deal. But if you want to see some scars, I've got much better ones with better stories than just some crazy bitch I accidently married who liked to get my attention in bad ways."
His chest suddenly hurt. Sam didn't want to trade scar stories. Instead he lay his head back down and stubbornly closed his eyes. "Pick a new movie."
Nick's hand left his hair and the ending credit music from the last movie died instantly, replaced by the white noise of the storm outside as Nick browsed Netflix in search of the next something awful for them to watch.
"Lesbian film syndicate movie?" He suggested.
"I think I'll pass." Sam tried not to smile, because this wasn't the first time that Nick had suggested a similar type of movie.
"Haunted house?"
"Can we do something that doesn't involve ghosts or demons or monsters or ax murderers?"
"Romantic comedy about a middle aged man who takes up ballroom dancing?"
Sam made a face.
"Documentary about Joan of Arc?"
"You do know that these movies are all suggested based on your watch history- and I'm really worried about you."
Nick laughed, and Sam could feel it rumbling between them. He started laughing too, pulling his free arm around Nick's middle and hiding his face in the man's shoulder.
"Documentary on black holes?" The blonde finally suggested.
Sam felt suspicious as the prospect. "Is that just another one of your lesbian movies?"
Nick started laughing again, shoulders shaking quietly.
Sam opened an eye to peer at the small screen. "Groundhog's Day." He decided for them. It was technically his turn to pick anyhow.
"As you wish." Nick selected the little icon and settled back against the younger man, hand immediately coming up to find Sam's hair.
"How are you this cold?" Sam shied away from the touch, somewhat horrified that Nick could have lost his contact warmth so quickly.
"We've had this conversation." Nick dug his fingers in, stealing as much warmth from Sam as he could. "Poor circulation."
"Where's the blanket I got you?" Sam winced as he tried to force his body to accept the cold of Nick's skin along his cheek and neck and shoulder.
"On my bed…" His tone turned a little lecherous, but at the same time still light and joking. "You want to take this back to the bedroom?"
"No. but it'd be nice if you used the blanket I got you for Christmas instead of leeching warmth from me with your corpse hands." Sam had been particularly proud of the electric blanket that he'd found for Nick. It was fleecy, red, king sized, and it went all the way up to ten.
"Go get it for me." Nick suggested, even though he was one half of what was pinning Sam down.
He considered telling his friend to take a long walk down a short road- but Nick wouldn't go and then Sam would be stuck here with the meat popsicle, left to suffer each frigid touch until they reached some kind of median in temperature that would be just on the wrong side of comfortable considering the ambient cold from the storm that kept eking through the windows despite the little wall heater that was trying as hard as it could.
He rolled Nick away, just enough that he could free himself to climb over the man, all long limbs and no grace as he struggled to find his footing. And now, he had never actually been in Nick's room. The only time he'd stayed the night it had been out here on the couch. He wasn't sure what he was expecting.
The light switch was against the wall beside the door, as most light switches were. He flipped the switch and saw the usual things that one suspects, a dresser, a pile of cloths consuming a lonely chair, a bed that was ninety percent blankets.
Apparently Nick was not the kind of guy who made his bed, and that was ok in the grand scheme of things. It just meant that all Sam had to do was push the folds around until he found the right color. He tugged free the blanket he'd bought for Nick to help combat his upsettingly low body temperature.
The cord got unplugged from the wall, and the blanket tossed over a shoulder. Sam reached for the light, but hesitated with his hand against the switch.
Sitting on the dresser, beside Nick's reading glasses, was a framed picture of the man grinning at the camera with his arms around a very young, very blonde little girl. And Sam recognized her almost at once. She was the extra kid in all the photos at Nick's work. She had to be somewhere between six and eight in the picture (because Sam wasn't practiced at judging the ages of kids and really that was his best guess). All he could tell for sure was that she was small, fitting almost perfectly against Nick's chest. Just as pale and just as blonde as he was. Her grin just as wide.
She had to be a little sister. They looked so much alike.
In the back of his mind, he remember a snatch of conversation from a few weeks ago, sitting around the dinner table and Gabriel mentioning getting letters from someone, then Nick going from elated to bristling and evasive and Sam had been told not to ask about her. He remembered that much at least.
He turned off the light and came back to the living room and to his surprise he saw that Nick had gotten up off the couch. The man couldn't be bothered to go get his own blanket, but he could get up to pour himself a scotch.
Nick was all easy lines, leaning against the kitchen counter and sipping on his short glass of dark amber.
Sam tossed the blanket onto the couch and sighed. "Really?"
"Want one?" Nick nodded to the very nice looking bottle on the counter that Sam recognized as a Christmas present given him by his sister-in-law.
"I'm not good with scotch." Honestly, Sam wasn't too good at holding anything other than about a beer and a half.
"I can teach you."
"You just want to get me drunk." Sam accused and started looking for an outlet to plug in the blanket.
Nick chuckled and got a second glass down from the cupboard. "You're not making it home tonight. You may as well settle in." He brought the two drinks over, as well as the still mostly full bottle, setting them beside the tablet and waiting for Sam to get back on the couch.
And Sam didn't want to stand to fight about this one, so he sat himself down, tossing the blanket over Nick and smiling as the man struggled for a second to resurface.
When Nick finally emerged he had a bit of a smile, like he found the antics only slightly amusing. "You're lucky I like this blanket so much."
"I knew you would." Sam leaned back, arms behind his head, still rather pleased with himself.
"Just like I knew you'd like your Christmas present." Nick said almost slyly as he started settling himself in, curling his legs beneath him, pulling the blanket around so his flank wouldn't be exposed to the cold.
Sam shook his head and put his feet up on the table, comfortable enough in just jeans and a flannel now that Nick wasn't sapping his warmth from him.
Nick smoothed imaginary wrinkles from his blanket before grabbing his drink. "Do you want to use your present tonight? It doesn't have an expiration date, but at the same time there's no real point in saving it."
Though he tried to fight it, Sam found himself smiling and trying rather unsuccessfully to hold in a chuckle. He still had the very tasteful present in his wallet, a homemade coupon for what promised to be borderline illegal sex, complete with very illustrative stick figures.
"I thought I would wait until my birthday to cash it in."
Nick's throat bobbed as he took a slow swallow of scotch. "That might be a little awkward. Isn't your birthday in May?"
Sam nodded, oddly pleased that the man remembered something like that.
"Well, we break up in February..."
"Hey, it specifically says that it's good forever. I reserve the right to show up years from now, on your wedding night to the perfect woman, to slap that bit of paper down and demand you spread 'em."
Nick choked on his scotch, so Sam awarded himself one point.
Once he recovered, getting his soft coughing and throat clearing under control, Nick managed to give Sam an inscrutable look as he passed a glass over.
Sam took it, even if he really had no intention of drinking. He was already tired. Tired plus alcohol was going to equally a very sloppy Sam. Sloppy Sam wasn't responsible for his actions, and Sober Sam hated cleaning up after him.
"On my wedding night?"
"Or during your youngest kid's high school graduation. Just there on one of the chairs in front of all the other parents." Sam said so calmly. "I plan on getting the most out of this."
And that coaxed a smile out of the other man, even if he did his best to hide it behind his drink. He cleared his throat again. "So… along those lines, I've been reading."
"Reading?" Sam looked up from his own drink.
"Less for fun, more for research."
"Research?"
"Look, if you're going to play the echo game it's going to make this take a lot longer and one of us is going to start feeling real stupid."
It was Sam's turn to hide a smile in his drink. And it was very likely that this was good scotch, but it flayed his throat raw and burned all the way down, settling like a dying star somewhere in his stomach.
Nick nodded before continuing. "My basic understanding on sex between two guys was fairly… anatomical. Like, insert 'tab A' into 'slot B', and just keep repeating until someone says 'oh god' and his knees buckle."
Sam started coughing on his drink, unprepared for the less than gentle reminder that this, this glorious creature right here was the man that he was supposed to be dating. So full of tack and class and charm.
"And I couldn't just tell Gabriel 'yep, I put it in him'- so I did some research."
"You've been reading porn." Sam clarified to the couch and the tablet, just in case they were a bit slow.
Nick showed a bit of teeth in what could have been mistaken as a grin. "It's called erotica."
"You've been reading gay porn." Sam refused to call it anything other than what it inevitably was. "Why not just watch a video like a normal person? I'm sure that the internet is full of them."
"First off, downloading porn is a great way to get a virus on my computer, and second I really don't want to watch two guys going at it."
"So you read about it?"
"I close my eyes during the scary parts." Nick assured and took another drink, finishing the last few drops.
Sam just sighed. "So…" He waited for the rest of it to come and hit him, sure that the man would have brought it up for a good reason and not just because he liked to share his hobbies.
"So there are tons of books out there." He poured himself a little more to drink, hands still steady and that was a good sign. "I started with this one that had these two cowboys, but there was a lot of tying each other up- the rodeo was involved in the story somehow and so the one guy had a lasso- and anyway, I didn't want to tell my brother that my first forays into the more fabulous side of sex involved tying someone up. Plus I'm sure that there would be rope burns involved and I had a feeling that you wouldn't be game to try and fake them."
Sam took another drink because this whole conversation was suddenly walking a very weird line.
"So I found this other one and, Sam, it's perfect. All the sex that we've had up until tonight has been straight from this book. I just take notes and basically retell Gabe all the steamy parts but change the names around."
Did he even want to ask? "What have we been getting up to?"
"Nothing too scary. Don't worry your pretty little head about it." Nick waved the question off. "The main character's this demon hunter-"
And Sam should have guessed that it couldn't have been anything normal, Nick enjoyed his scary movies too much to not have something weird going on. "And the other guy's a demon?"
Nick showed teeth again. "That's what he thinks at first, but his exorcisms don't work and he comes to realize that they aren't strong enough because the other guy isn't just a demon, he's the devil himself."
"Of course he is." Sam nodded and inclined his glass, motioning that Nick should keep going.
"And the Devil is just fascinated by this human and starts following him around." Nick tossed back his scotch and closed his eyes for a second. Even Sam knew that that wasn't how you were supposed to do this. You don't do shots of scotch. It must have hurt like hell, but Nick was pouring himself a third drink, a little slower, a lot more carefully.
"And at some point they start… having sex?" This was definitely leaning towards one of the stranger conversations that they had had since meeting.
"The Devil decides that he wants the guy's body for a vessel, but he needs the guy to give his premisison. And the demon hunter is like 'fuck that', so the Devil decides that if he can't have the guy's body one way, he'll take it another. It's all kinds of slow, uncomfortable seduction because the human is still saying 'fuck that' the whole time but slowly starts to give in."
"And this is the 'perfect book'?"
"I can read you part of it-"
"No thanks."
"The Devil's never actually had sex, being the personification of evil, but not used to having a physical body. So once they get past the general seduction part he's a bit lost and it's kind of… exploratory."
"You've given yourself the part of the Devil, haven't you?"
"Naturally." Nick scoffed as if it even needed to be asked. "I thought it was the most accurate part I could play."
Sam had to kind of nod in agreement, trying another sip of his drink, feeling it coat his teeth and tongue. "And why exactly are you telling me all this? I thought we agreed that you would fill in all the messy details and I wouldn't have to hear about them."
"We did, and I did, and I'd like to point that I'm not telling you about how you talk real dirty and pull my hair when I'm going down on you." Only Nick could manage to say something like that with such a remarkably straight face. "I just told you that story so I could tell you another."
Sam finished his drink, because the burn helped to take his mind off of that mental image of Nick kneeling on the floor between his knees while Sam arched into the couch, begging incoherently as that warm mouth slid down his-
He set his glass on the table and pointedly didn't pour himself a second, instead focusing on the movie that had been left to run its course. Bill Murray slowly going insane as the day he found himself in repeated itself for the eighth time.
"I read a few books before I found that one, and none of them were very good, but they all had the same kind of things in common."
"Are you going to tell me that we're doing this wrong somehow because you read about how gay relationships work in some trashy porno?" That almost came out as a joke, but it went a bit odd in the middle and Sam wasn't sure how to fix it.
"I'm saying that I've compiled my own experiences with what I've read about to discover that gay relationships are almost exactly like straight ones except for the extra helping of cock."
It was almost nice to see the rough deterioration in Nick's speaking patterns as he got himself into that third scotch. Sam appreciated knowing where the benchmarks were, mostly so that he could keep the man from going further than two drinks the next time.
"And?" They may as well get it over with. Whatever slightly less than lucid thing that Nick had been working himself up to needed to just get out in the open.
"We don't fight." He said plainly. The buildup left the overly simple statement rather stunning.
"I think Dean took care of that for me." Sam nodded towards Nick's bad hand that even after the splints had been removed seemed a bit stiff.
"I mean we don't argue."
Sam struggled to put together what Nick meant and not what he was saying. "You're saying that we get along too well."
"People who are actually dating disagree on things."
"Only if there's something to disagree on."
"There's always something to disagree on. Where to go for dinner. What movie to see. I hate your brother. Who's going to drive. Why don't we see each other more often. Why are we spending so much time together- I need my space. Were you checking out that girl?" He looked away from Sam for a second, a small frown forming between his eyebrows. "There's a million little things that come up, stuff about another person that just rub you the wrong way and eventually you're going to argue."
"Have you considered that we might accidently just perfect for each other and there's nothing to argue about?"
"We're fucking far from perfect for each other." And that held an odd emotion that Sam couldn't put a name to, nor did he want to try.
He took his feet off the coffee table and tried to look at this as logically as he could, again, suffering to find what Nick meant and not focus too hard on what he was saying because what he was saying wasn't good. "You want to add a fight to our relationship because in the long run it will make the whole thing look more believable."
"That's what I said, isn't it?" Nick looked slightly confused, and Sam sighed an oddly relieved little sigh.
"So what do we argue about?"
"How would I know?" Nick set his half empty glass down and rubbed a hand over his mouth.
Sam sighed again, but it was more frustrated now. What to argue about? He could write a book on how to pick a fight with Dean, he even thought he might know how to pull one out of Nick if he really had to. Over the past few weeks Sam had seen some of the little loose threads that he shouldn't pull. But Nick didn't want a real fight. He wanted something he could tell his brother about to make this whole mess look more authentic to the casual observer.
"You drink too much." Sam suggested.
Nick sucked softly on his teeth, little tip of his tongue showing. "I drink as much as I need to. It's a coping mechanism." He sounded dismissive, not at all willing for this to be a point of conflict between them, but Sam dug his nails in, because if he had to say one thing that he honestly thought that they would one day fight about if they decided to stay friends once this was over- it would be the fact that Nick drank too much.
"What the hell are you 'coping' with? It's a Thursday night at home with a friend- no coping needed."
"Look, I'm an adult, and I know what I need to feel ok. And this is what I need. It's not a dependency, it's just a little help to keep all the bad things quiet."
Sam had heard almost the exact same argument before. It was one of the things that had solidified his decision to leave Kansas two years ago. "Yeah, my dad says something similar. He's just drowning his demons. But his wife died twenty years ago and he's not coping anymore, he's just an alcoholic with a failing liver and kids who moved two thousand miles away just so they don't have to watch him slowly killing himself."
Nick, stubborn as you like, picked his glass back up from the table and watched Sam with an unsettlingly steady gaze as he took a slow drink. "I don't know shit about your dad- but I'm going to go ahead and assume that he loved your mom something terrible. She was probably the love of his life and when she died he realized how god damned cruel the world can be, to take from him the thing that meant to most. The person who got him out of bed in the morning. The person that he thought about a million times a day. Who he ached for when she went as far as the next room."
He finished his drink and Sam found himself at a loss for words.
"Your dad is trying to dampen the pain of only having a few, very limited years to spend with the other half of his soul. Twenty years sounds about right, and maybe if he needs to he can take another twenty- because you don't get over shit like that." He took a rough breath, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he didn't look mad, he looked pained. "I fell in love with someone I'd never even met. My daughter was the light of my life before I'd even had a chance to see her face or hear her laugh. And I lost her. I didn't get to hold her, I didn't get to find out if I'd be a good father to her or if I'd fuck it up like my family was so sure that I would. I didn't get the few years that your dad did. I had seven months and three days. But if your dad gets twenty years to try and dull the pain with liquor then I can at least have a few more years without everyone who comes along riding my ass, telling me that they know what's best for me."
He licked his teeth and pressed his lips together in a thin, firm line. "I drink as much as I need to, and you can fucking keep your opinions to the contrary to yourself."
Sam looked at his hands, at the bit of dirt beneath his nails, and he wondered how someone who had never met his father, who had never even heard anyone talk about him, could describe the man to absolute perfection. Nick had a slightly different kind of pain in him than John- he certainly showed it a little differently. Or maybe it was exactly the same and Sam just couldn't understand it because he'd never lost anyone like they had.
He knew enough to realize that this was something that he should just leave alone.
"So, what do you want to have a fight about?" Nick asked again after giving the bit of unease a chance to settle in between the sounds of the movie and the rain.
And hadn't they just sort of had one? But Sam supposed that that little disagreement wasn't the sort of thing that Nick had intentions of sharing with his brother and whoever else in his family that was keeping tabs on their relationship.
"I… I lied when I said I was ok with you sleeping around." Of all the things that Sam could have suggested, that was what popped into his mind. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to be making something up or if it had to be valid point of contention.
Nick perked up just a bit, his eyes coming alive. "That can work. Your brother still seemed pretty pissed about it."
"He is." Sam assured, a little unease in his stomach because it was a perfectly perfect thing to have a fight about. It would even lead quite nicely into the breakup fight that they had promised to have at the end of all this, if they wanted to bring it back. But unlike the majority of the things that were going on in this faux romance, this one felt a little too honest. "He thinks I should dump you."
"He's right." Nick shrugged easily. "Even if you gave me permission- which is fantastically generous of you by the way- you deserve better than some ass who would risk losing you just for some pussy."
"I think that that was supposed to be a complement- but it's real hard to tell. You do know that you get significantly more rough around the edges when you drink, right?"
"It's part of my charm." Nick shrugged as if this was not at all news to him. "But you changing your mind is perfect." He leaned forward, carefully pouring another drink for himself and just a little splash for Sam. "Knew I could count on you to be the smart one. You get to be a little hurt, I get to be the bad guy, but at the same time wholly justified in my actions. As misunderstandings go it'll work well." He nudged Sam's glass over to him and commanded, "drink".
Sam could have pointed out that he still wasn't all that big on drinking, or that the longer he knew Nick the less he trusted himself and what he might do to this man if given a leave of his better sense. He honestly wasn't sure if he wanted to hug him or just arm wrestle him and either way felt illogical and reckless.
"I'm not trying to get you drunk, you lightweight, pansy ass, sequoia. I'm teaching you how to drink scotch and at the same time, toasting you on a brilliant solution."
Sam reluctantly took his glass, running a thumb along the rim and looking at the mouthful of scotch that wouldn't be enough to do any real damage.
So they drank a more, and then a little more, and Sam agreed that they would take about a week off where they could both brood and suffer their way through this 'misunderstanding' before deciding that they missed each other too much, and it wasn't such a big deal, and they could move on. Somehow, in the midst of this conversation Sam ended up laying back down again, sandwiched once more between the back of the couch and a now very warm Nick.
Sam drifted quickly to the edge of sleep, and it wasn't his fault because it had to be almost midnight by now. The only thing keeping him awake was that he was sweating. Too hot to sleep, and it was an odd problem to have in the dead of winter. He blamed the blanket which had been set to eight, or maybe it was Nick's hand that had found its way back into his hair, a little more clumsy than before, fingers loose along the back of his neck.
At some point he realized that Nick had changed movies, but he couldn't tell if it was because Groundhog's Day had ended, or if the man had just needed the familiarity of screaming fools being terrorized to get some real rest in this late hour. There would have been deeper thoughts and analysis to the whole change if Sam could still open his eyes, but that window of wakefulness had closed, and he simply listened to the movie going on without him. If it weren't for the damp heat he could feel collecting at the base of his spine he would have passed easily into unconsciousness.
Instead, he found himself being dragged back to half lucid by the rumble of Nick's voice.
"Sam?" His breath warm as it ghosted over Sam's neck. "You still awake?"
The answer was yes, but Sam was too far gone to remember the word.
"Sam?" He dragged the single syllable out.
And even mostly asleep, Sam recognized the slight slurring of speech. Apparently five small glasses of scotch was a bit much even for Nick. It would have been enough to lay Sam completely out for the night and well into tomorrow, but the older man was a bit sturdier when it came to alcohol.
With a hand still tangled in Sam's hair, Nick gently nosed against his cheek, whispering some nonsense along his jaw. A bit more affectionate, or hungry, than was usual- even for them. "We can't sleep out here. We're too big for the couch." Which was followed by considerably less sensible things.
It was still asking too much of Sam to open his eyes or to give any kind of clean and logical response to Nick's mutterings about the couch's surface area, and something about starfish. He grunted instead and hoped that it was understood as a 'shut up and go away, I'm fine here'.
But it wasn't good enough because apparently Nick didn't speak delirious college boy. With what felt like deliberate purpose, he pressed his mouth to Sam's cheek in something that was too wide and clumsy to be a kiss and more closely resembled a nuzzle with teeth.
Definitely hungry.
Sam yawned and turned his face away, managing to grumble out a half audible "don't be weird".
This was either ignored or simple not understood as Nick's fingers slid through his hair, tugging his head just a touch further to the side as he yawned into the soft underside of Sam's jaw. Deep, slow breaths that he managed to draw without his mouth ever leaving Sam's skin and it was a peculiar feeling.
Nick kissed him, gentle as any goodbye kiss on the cheek up until this point, except this one was on the sensitive, kind of raw feeling skin of Sam's neck, so soft that he almost missed it.
"Don't be weird." Sam repeated a little less coherently than last time. Because if felt strange, but not in a bad way. And he kind of liked the scratch of Nick's stubble along his throat but definitely not in a good way.
And maybe Nick understood this time because he muttered about the couch again before shifting like he was going to get up, then abandoning the motion. The two of them sort of started to settle back down against each other, sleep edging in despite the ambient noises and the lights that were still on.
It was far too warm to manage any real sleep, but at the same time too comfortable to disrupt any of it.
A few more minutes passed before Nick weakly fisted a hand in his hair and made a soft, tired kind of noise that tapered off into another yawn. Sam grunted in response and managed to reach up and pat the man's arm in what he hoped was an affectionate way. Something that meant agreement, or surrender, because the two of them could just pass out here despite the fact that there wasn't enough room and they would inevitably wake up sore from their cramped position.
Even though his voice was muffled by Sam's throat, Nick kept talking. Confused little things and somewhere in that mix of words the younger man thought he heard 'I want to keep you.'
Which sounded pretty nice to Sam actually.
Nick could keep him, he could keep Nick.
"You're too warm." He complained instead because it felt like a better idea than agreeing.
"You're never happy." Nick pointed out even as he pushed his blanket off, letting it pool on the floor. A quiet sacrifice evident in the way that he shivered and drew closer, little prickles of goose bumps running up his arm beneath Sam's hand.
"And you're a martyr."
Nick made a noise of agreement even as his teeth grazed Sam's throat. A sharp feeling that could have been an accident. Gone too fast to tell. And Sam knew, he knew that he should have slapped at Nick, or pinched him or something. Anything. Instead he slid his hand over Nick's, tangling fingers and hair, thinking quietly that he could sleep like this and it might just be perfect.
Nick made a confused, lost kind of noise at Sam's touch. Finger's twisting as he turned his face away, hiding against the younger man's shoulder. "Not enough room on the couch." He insisted with what was definitely a bite this time, tugging at the collar of Sam's shirt.
"Then go to bed, you weirdo." Sam felt himself say even while he hoped that Nick wouldn't listen to him.
"Come with me."
"Hell no." That was literally the worst idea that he'd heard in ages because there was no way he could see that ending well for them.
Like he agreed and wanted to drive that thought home, Nick turned his face back to Sam's throat, agonizingly slow, hesitation in every centimeter. And Sam would like to say that he didn't know what the man was doing. He couldn't see if after all, but he could feel it.
Even through the haze of sleep and scotch he could feel it.
His toes curled and his skin prickled with a shiver that had nothing to do with any kind of cold.
The damp heat of Nick's mouth, the wet press of his tongue. There was a hint of teeth against the skin of Sam's throat, nerves tender from the rough brush of the older man's stubble.
And when Sam should have felt apprehension, all he managed was anticipation.
Long fingers tightened in his hair and Nick drew a sharp breath before blowing hard, managing to make a surprisingly rude noise in just the same way that Sam used to do into his own elbow when he and Dean were kids and blowing raspberries because they sounded like farts was one of the funniest things imaginable. But that was about fifteen years ago, and this was now, and this was on his neck. It was loud and kind of moist and it would have tickled if it wasn't so unexpected and disappointing.
"Damn it, Nick!"
"Are you awake?" He looked up at Sam, bright blue eyes holding his innocent smile captive. "Can we go to bed now?"
Sam wiped furiously at his neck. "That's disgusting."
Nick giggled.
God almightily, he giggled.
"How drunk are you?" Sam demanded, curling away as much as the couch would allow- which wasn't far enough.
"I'm not drunk." Nick argued. "I'm plastered."
"I can see that." He eyed Nick distrustfully and the man just kept laughing, his cheeks turning red, his eyes watering. "Can we have our fight be about you motorboating my neck instead?"
"Aw, you're fine. You big baby." He stretched out with his arms long over his head, still grinning at Sam, looking for all the world like a little kid. "Carry me to bed?"
Sam pushed Nick off the couch and relished in the awful noise the man made when he hit the floor. He also enjoyed the subsequent wrestling match, and to a lesser extent, the few hours of sleep that he had there on the floor under Nick and a tangle of blanket.
.:.
"I can't do this, Dean." Sam pressed his thumbs to his eyes, seeing quiet starbursts. "I can't fucking do this." He could feel his throat closing up, his hands shaking, his knees weak- and it was wonderful that he was sitting because he sure as hell hadn't been doing all that good a job at standing a few minutes ago.
"You want me to tell him to leave?" It wasn't a real offer, it was incredulous and offended and everything that Dean was so good at being when he needed to be. "Sure, Sammy. I'll just go out there and tell Dad that now's not a good time for you."
Sam looked up at his brother, pleading.
"No." Dean found a sturdy looking mug and filled it with coffee that was probably strong enough that it could have walked itself out to the living room. "It's fine. I'll talk to him, you don't have to."
"You can't talk to him. It's not even noon and the man's drunk off his ass. I don't even know how he managed to give the taxi driver our address." His stomach churned. "I don't even know how he has our address in the first place."
To that Dean managed to look ever so slightly guilty.
Such a look might one day kill Sam. "You didn't."
"I've been… sending him money. He didn't ask for it or anything, but most of the house bills were in my name when we left so I was the one who kept getting notifications that they weren't being paid."
"Dean." Sam put his face back in his hands and made no move to resurface.
Maybe he had a full ride scholarship for school which gave him a little bit of money for living expenses after tuition and books. And Dean worked full time and then some- but it wasn't like they had money to throw around. Certainly not enough to pay for a house out here in California as well as one in Kansas. Or maybe they would if his big brother wasn't sending a chunk of their earnings it to their father.
"He took care of us, Sammy. Now it's my turn to take care of him." Dean stubbornly took the coffee out to the living room where they had left John.
"But that's not how it's supposed to work." Sam mumbled into his hands before using them to muffle a quiet scream of frustration.
He hid in the kitchen as long as he could. Wishing that the house had an exit on this side- but he was trapped, ever more so when John finally sobered up a bit, and despite Dean's protests, came looking for his younger son.
Sam didn't even hear most of what was being said to him, all he knew was that he found himself sitting so rigid in his chair that his spine felt fused, and he could hear himself repeating 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir' in the same dead tone that he hadn't had to use for years.
Dean stayed somewhere in the doorway, looking like a man watching a train wreck, standing back with the woeful knowledge in his eyes that there was nothing he could do at this point.
Somewhere in there Sam 'yesed' when he should have 'noed' and John's head was clear enough by this point for the insubordination to make him annoyed. He thunked a fist down on the table, shifting the whole piece of furniture just a bit and despite a lifetime of this, Sam still flinched. John saw it and latched on to the reaction, raising his voice and hitting the table again. But then Dean was there, coming between them as best as he could, talking to Dad in that long-suffering way that usually ended so badly for him. He distracted John and got him another coffee while Sam sat there and played out in his mind just how much trouble he would make if he just got up and left.
It wouldn't be fair to leave Dean like this.
But it also wasn't fair that Dean had somehow given their father permission to just reinsert himself in their lives.
The old man had said something about simply missing his boys, but Sam hadn't been listening. He was too busy looking at the deeper age lines around his father's eyes, at the hair on his temples that had changed to far more salt than pepper. The last two years didn't look like they had been gentle ones, but John wasn't the kind of man who asked for gentleness. He took from life exactly what he put in- which was to say that he was as hard as he was mean, though only when he'd been drinking, but to be fair, Sam hadn't seen his father fully sober or not hung over for more than a few hours all together over the past decade.
Maybe if John had shown up last week Sam would have had some fire in him to yell back. Around the time he'd hit puberty he'd had his hackles up anytime dad came around. Ready to go ten rounds if necessary. And he probably could have, could have taken the man down if Dean hadn't always gotten between them and dragged them apart as soon as one of them took a swing- but right now he was just tired, honestly a little gloomy, and doing his best to stay as still and as quiet as possible because he'd always viewed the old man as something like a T-Rex. He couldn't see you if you weren't moving. He wouldn't raise a hand if you didn't show you were afraid.
After all these years, Sam still couldn't tell if he was still afraid of his father or just angry. Neither would help him now, and so he just took small, slow breaths and made tight fists while he watched Dean do what he did best.
Sam was so focused on his self imposed task, he hardly noticed when John started asking what all that damned noise was.
And listening had never really been one of Sam's strong suits but it was loud enough, persistent enough, that it finally ate its way through to him. It was a motorcycle. Not a particularly notable noise unto itself, but it took on a bit of importance when it was heard so close to home. Just as Sam began to wonder what the neighbors were up to, the noise died- only to be replaced a few seconds later with a loud knocking on the front door.
Dean looked suddenly like the air had been let out of him, relief clear on his face as his shoulders slumped. "Sammy, go get the door."
Sam didn't get up.
"It's probably Nick. You guys were going to go to school and buy textbooks or something today, right?"
Wrong.
Very wrong.
Dean had literally taken Sam to school yesterday to get the books that he would need in a week when school started back up. And he couldn't have developed amnesia so suddenly. That- and the fact that Sam and Nick were suffering still only a few days after their 'fight', not back on speaking terms yet, and Dean was loving every minute of it. The same day that Sam had told his brother about the argument, Dean had taken him out for lunch and bought him the biggest salad on the menu in celebration.
There were absolutely no plans at all even slightly close to what Dean was suggesting.
But the man put his cell phone on the table beside Sam, the screen showing just a glimpse of a conversation. Sam could make out
-just come get him
and a reply of
-give me 5min
Something that might have been Nick's name may have been at the top of the screen, but it went dark before Sam could tell for sure. He looked up at his brother and had the clear thought that now was not an appropriate time to hug the man, but he could save a rough embrace for later. He mouthed 'thank you' and quickly made his way to the front of the house, hearing Dean making quiet excuses behind him.
And Nick stood there on the porch, eyes shadowed and dark with the memory of interrupted sleep, a confused, but somewhat sincere expression on his face. He shrugged at Sam, looking like he wanted an explanation but wasn't particularly expecting one. He was here and it was more than enough.
Sam pulled his shoes on and grabbed a jacket, yelling some sort of non specific goodbye to his sacrificial brother before running away with the promise of salvation.
Surprisingly, Nick didn't ask. He had to have wanted to know, but he didn't ask. Instead, he stopped at the coffee shop by his work and got them both breakfast even if they were coming up on lunch time. His first words directed at Sam were "I missed you."
"It's been six days."
"But we usually text or call in between."
Sam excavated a blueberry from his muffin, mortified that his hands were still shaking just a bit. "We had a fight."
"I remember." Nick yawned, rubbing at an eye before taking another drink of coffee, still looking mostly asleep. "Isn't that even more of a reason to miss you?"
Sam found another berry, eating it before looking at how stained his fingers were getting.
"I couldn't have been out for more than three hours before your brother texted me. I'm not entirely sure that this is actually happening right now- you've got to give me something, Sam, or I'll just assume I'm still sleeping."
"Thanks… for the muffin, and for coming and getting me."
Nick only nodded and tipped his cup to Sam, so casual and modest, like he hadn't stopped a war by simply answering a desperate text sent by a man who might actually hate him. He still didn't ask. He just let Sam butcher his pastry in peace and then he took Sam back to his place.
Sam stood there, a few feet from the door, feeling very lost. This wasn't where he belonged. He should be back at home, standing beside Dean, giving his brother whatever strength he could. Instead he'd run away and hid.
"Hey," Nick had snuck upsettingly close, "what do you need?" And it wasn't a demand, there was only gentleness there. An offer for what sounded like anything in the world that Sam could ever want.
"Do you have anything to drink?"
"Water, milk, coffee?" Nick was already in the kitchen, getting down a glass.
"Do you have anything stronger?"
That made him skip a beat, pausing to look over his shoulder, even more confused than he had been on Sam's doorstep only half an hour ago. "How strong do you want it?"
He rubbed at his face, feeling anxious and on edge and his damn hands were still shaking. "I'd like to be unconscious by the time Dean calls me to say it's safe to come back home."
Nick stared at him for a heartbeat, the expression he wore making him almost a complete stranger. "Can I offer you a glass of checkers then?"
As it turned out a 'glass of checkers' was presented on a traditional game board, but instead of little black and red pieces there were shot glasses filled with either whisky or vodka. Sam sat on the couch, Nick sat on the floor across from him.
They played.
And they drank.
And Sam didn't remember much after that.