The boy who blocked his own shot

by All the kings ham

It was such a simple plan. How did it go so wrong so fast? AU Samifer

20. Chapter 20

AN:/ real life sort of ate my face.

if any of you are still around, here, have some 40 odd pages worth of boys not talking about their feelings like adults

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"But it's your birthday." Dean pointed out for possibly the hundredth time this afternoon, and it oddly, still didn't make any kind of difference. "You can't study on your birthday."

"I can if my finals start next week." Sam pointed out, stubbornly clinging to his textbook, least Dean try to take it from him again. It hadn't ended so well last time.

"It's Saturday night." Which was also not new news.

Sam sighed and picked back up his highlighter.

Dean threw his hands in the air. "You're a damn disappointment. You know that, Sammy? All the other big brothers are going to give me shit about this at our next big brother meeting. Come on." It had been going on like this for hours now. Dean's arguments slowly making less and less sense. "You can't spend your birthday with your face in a law book."

"Yes. I can."

"But it's your twenty-second birthday. Double twos. This means something."

And that might be right, however Sam just shook his head and refused to be moved by the insults or insane ramblings. There were more important things than going out and drinking with his brother.

Not that he had been able to convince Dean of this. But the fact remained.

"You've got to at least take a break, man. This isn't healthy."

"It's finals." Sam countered with a well worn sigh. "They aren't meant to be healthy."

"Dinner. Let me take you out for dinner at least."

Sam glanced over at the clock above the stove. It was almost eight at night. Last he'd checked the time it had only been a little after three. How had it gotten so late? Who was supposed to be keeping track of the time?

He sat back and looked reluctantly up at his brother, who instantly got that grin of his, knowing that he'd finally worn Sam down, through need of food alone.

"I guess I could take a break-" he reluctantly pushed the words through his teeth. "Just a short one though."

Dean smacked him on the back. "What are we sitting around here for? I know a place that has great wings."

"We're not going to Hooters." Sam stood up anyways, figuring that they could take the argument on the road, because now that food had been mentioned he realized just how hungry he actually was.

"Great food. Great girls. How can you honestly say no? Besides, I bet that they would be willing to do something real special for the birthday boy."

"You really have a one track mind, don't you?"

Dean grinned and nodded, grabbing his keys and heading out to the car.

By the grace of God alone, Sam managed to talk Dean into going to a 'real' restaurant- though in the end he found that it didn't make much difference. There were still females working there, and Dean had never been able to help himself when it came to females.

Or when it came to Sam.

Dean did practically everything to their waitress short of actually writing down Sam's cell number and tucking it into her pocket.

As it turned out, Sam had spent three months ruining a perfectly good fake relationship in the vain hope of avoiding Dean trying to set him up with strangers in strange places- then just as long trying to pull himself back together once that masterful plan had fallen apart.

And here he was right back at square one.

Nothing at all to show for the half a year of hell that he'd dragged himself through.

"Knock it off." Sam hissed at Dean, once the cute redheaded waitress left to go fetch their drinks.

"She's got an ass like a Christmas ham." His big brother muttered almost to himself, half leaning out of his chair, twisting awkwardly to watch her go.

"Real classy." Sam stole Dean's pickle from where it had been pushed it off to the side. "I'm sure all women love being compared to festive meats."

"They love it." Dean laughed warmly and swatted Sam away from his food. "It's like catnip to them, man. You don't even know."

"And this right there is why you're still single."

But with a big grin, Dean simply shrugged, "yeah. And you're one to talk."

Which was a cheap shot, but Sam did his best to just let it roll off of him.

It had been well over a month since he last saw Nick. The weather had changed. The days were getting longer. The nights shorter and significantly less cold.

And honestly, that saying about time healing all wounds? Maybe there was something to it after all.

No misunderstandings though.

He still missed Nick.

Especially during those late, dark hours when he was lying alone in his bed, and the ache to have someone ( a very specific someone) beside him became a physical, gnawing pain.

But if hurt... less. As if that were some kind of consolation.

Sam couldn't have asked for, or really expected, any better than that.

Their waitress came back, very efficient woman that she was, with two beers and a sweet smile for the brothers.

"Can I get you boys anything else?" She popped her empty tray against a hip.

"Actually? Yeah." Dean drawled in that slow, knee weakening way that he typically saved for girls in much tighter pants. "You could let my brother here know when you get off tonight?" A smile like his was just as good as any lethal weapon. Many lesser women had fallen to it without much of a fight. "He could use a nice break from all this studying he's been up to. Maybe you two kids could… go see a movie, share a drink. It is his birthday after all." Real subtle like. As was Dean's specialty.

She turned her gaze in Sam's direction, sizing him up. There was a hint of pity there somewhere in her smile, she could tell that this had not been any idea of Sam's. And maybe that's why she didn't just turn and walk away. "But you two look like you're having so much fun. I wouldn't want to break up this nice masculine bonding thing you've got going."

Dean ran a thumb along the edge of her tray. "You know I'd miss him, but leaving him in capable hands like yours? ...I think he'd be alright."

It was difficult to tell if he was flirting for Sam, or for himself at this point.

By the way that she was smiling at Dean it was obvious which brother she was starting to lean towards.

Absolutely no complaints from the audience.

Sam honestly preferred it this way.

Only seconds after their waitress left with a smile and a bit of a giggle, off to go check on her other tables, Dean was leaning in and giving Sam that awful big brother look that he always did so well. "So no redheads. But come on. You can pick anyone you want. I'll be your wingman tonight."

"I don't want anyone." He lied with a bold, straight face. "I just want to pass my finals."

"Yeah, right." Dean chuckled and worked on his beer. "Everyone wants someone."

Sam picked up his own beer and pointedly refused to dignify such a statement.

Otherwise dinner was good.

Not good as in healthy for either of them, but still good in ways that mattered. As Dean very clearly pointed out, calories don't count on your birthday, you big girl, so just try to actually enjoy yourself for once. So they ate. They ate good things, and over the next hour or so Sam systematically vetoed every woman within eyesight of their table, much to Dean's dismay.

"Well then… didn't realise you were suddenly going to get so picky on me." Dean leaned back in his seat, muscles going loose and easy as he started on his third beer.

"I've always been this picky." Sam reminded very, very softly. "You're the one who doesn't care who he's sticking it in."

And that got Dean laughing, warm and carefree just like the rest of him. "Nice." Like he approved wholeheartedly of the insult. "Very nice."

"Come on. Finish that up so we can get back home."

"Dude. I am in no fit way to drive." He shook the mostly full brown bottle in Sam's direction. Not that three beers was really any kind of mile marker for someone like Dean, but it was an excuse. And Dean was really good at excuses.

"Then give me the keys." Sam still had most of his first drink sitting there, sweating little rings onto the table top beside his empty plate.

"Oh my god. One night out of the year, Sammy. It's all I'm asking for here. It's not much. Just sit back and enjoy the god damned scenery with me."

Sam cast a cursory glance around the very moderately priced chain restaurant that they were sitting in. The scenery was nothing at all exciting or worthy of a word like enjoy. At the same time though he could see that stubborn look on the edges of Dean's eyes. Not willing to let this whole 'birthday thing' go without a fight.

Rubbing grit from the edges of his own eyes, Sam surrendered. "Can we at least go to the bar down the street where they have something better than eight dollars for some watered down house draft?"

"Now we're talking the same language." Dean grinned like a maniac and flagged down their very nice ginger waitress who had already put up with so much from Dean tonight.

The Winchesters ended up leaving with her number after due to the fact that she slyly tucked the little scrap of paper into Dean's shirt pocket when she brought them their tab, Sam felt comfortably in the clear.

They walked side by side down the line of dark storefronts, towards the comforting neon glow of one of the many, many little bars in their quaint college town. Dean whistled tunelessly, hands shoved way down in his pockets, swaying just a hint more than usual.

"I think that worked out as best as could be expected." Sam decided out loud.

"Hell yeah, it did." You can't fake confidence like that. Dean had just been born with it. Easy as breathing. "She would have been wasted on you anyways. A girl like her needs… well, not you. But cheer up, Sammy. The night's still young and I aim to show my favorite birthday boy the good time he deserves."

"I'd settle for nursing a scotch for the rest of the night and watching you drink yourself stupid while getting shot down by every girl in the place."

"Since when do you drink scotch?"

"Nick, uh, he… he drank scotch sometimes. Mostly whiskey, but on good nights he'd get out the scotch."

"Oh god." Dean tossed back his head with an anguished groan. "You guys had your own drink? Next you'll be telling me you've got a song too."

Sam laughed a little too tightly. It wouldn't be right to tell Dean that every time he played his Thin Lizzy's tape in the car, all Sam could do was remember how much better the notes had sounded played on a violin somewhere in a parking garage in San Francisco. But maybe that was just a matter of taste.

By the end of the night, Sam got his simply spoken birthday wish. He got to feel warm and sick by the unfortunate amount of scotch in his stomach while watching Dean's increasingly clumsy efforts to snag a suitable companion for his obviously disinterested brother.

Somehow they made it home, but the process was hazy at best. All Sam knew was that come mid morning he was nursing a wicked hangover that was keeping him successfully pinned down in his bed, and Castiel of all people was the one setting hot coffee and aspirin next to him.

He grunted softly, and found that he didn't really care if it came out clearly as a thank you or not. Only for his birthday did he let Dean wreck him like this. It made his brother happy. And if you can't make your only brother happy on your own birthday, then why bother having one?

"Are you feeling better this morning?" Castiel asked the obviously pained and nauseously unwell man.

To which Sam managed another well placed grunt as an answer.

"Good. You were… less than your usual, composed self last night."

"Dean?"

"He was…a little worse than you, but he is... recovering."

Which coaxed a feeble smile out of Sam. "Thanks." He managed to shape the word, struggling to find some kind of clarity in the midst of the pounding in his head and the aching in his gut. It was something of a comfort knowing that when it came to Dean, if it happened that Sam wasn't up to the task, that there was some reliable backup to be had.

"I will admit, I was rather surprised to get the call to come pick you two up."

The coffee burned his tongue, but he got those little white pills down and found the strength to sit there on his bed while the room tilted sharply and the sliver of light from his window glared as brilliant as any dying sun. "I don't even remember calling you." Sam admitted.

"You didn't." Castiel dutifully went to the window and pulled the curtains tightly together without even being asked. "Nick did."

Any other morning, Sam might have been able to put together a subtable rebuttal for that. As it was he could only watch blearily as his brother's friend padded softly out of the room, leaving a great big empty space that would not be answering any questions.

Sam fell back against his pillows with a groan, not wanting to think about what fresh hell he'd opened himself up for somewhere between his second and third glass of scotch where things got too hazy to piece back together.

No hangover clouded memory from last night served as a possible explanation as to why or how Nick would have known that Sam was out drinking with Dean- so there was nothing but mild fear as to how Castiel had managed to get a phone call about it.

Patting around his bed and then the nightstand, Sam discovered that he had no idea where his phone had been put. No phone in his pocket either, though there had been some hope since by the smell alone, the jeans and tshirt that he'd slept in were definitely the same ones from last night, with that musty, slightly sickly smell of smoke and alcohol that always seemed to linger around bars. And it's not like Sam really wanted to see his phone, because all it could possibly do for him was to affirm that he'd actually called Nick while drunk. Which was frankly a level of stupid to which Sam would prefer not to own up to.

Head still pounding, he dragged himself to the shower instead, pointedly looking for a distraction from that painfully self destructive feeling that was trying to overtake him.

Around the time that the water started to run a bit cold, the pills that Cas had benevolently given him started to kick in. Sam came out of the shower, dressed in something only remotely more clean, with a promise to himself that he'd do some laundry today between studying and eating, pausing in the hall to listen to the arguing coming from downstairs.

On account of the fact that Dean had always been notoriously the first one to escalate disagreements into actual yelling, added with the fact that Sam couldn't even begin to imagine Castiel raising his voice- it sounded like a rather one sided fight so far. Dean's was the only voice making it up the stairs, the sentence structure getting a little lost, but the righteous outrage behind the words was coming through very clearly.

Sam braced himself and came about halfway down the staircase, holding onto the banister as he wobbled just a little, head still not all the way clear, despite how hard he was trying to convince himself that he was fine.

"I hardly see how this is my fault." Castiel laid out in a bland, unshaken tone. Standing there in the living room with his arms folded over his chest, completely unphased by the fact that Dean's own body language was just this side of homicidal.

"It' .Car." Dean seethed.

"Which you made perfectly clear that I am not allowed to drive."

"Fucking hell, Cas. You can't leave her in downtown overnight either."

The little accountant just looked blankly at Dean. Still not even halfway towards intimidated. "The contingencies weren't laid out for me at the time. You just said no."

Dean was breathing through his nose. Sam could hear it from all the way back where he was standing.

"Would you like me to drive you to your car or not?" From the way that Castiel bit the words off, so clean and measured, it was clear that this was not the first time in the conversation that he'd asked the question.

Sam personally was fairly impressed at the depth of the friendship that had formed between his big brother and this fearless man who had stepped rather square into the middle of a damned if you do, damned if you don't, sort of situation.

Leaving the Impala unattended, overnight, in a some random parking lot? Terrible idea at best.

Driving Dean's car when he told you in no uncertain terms not to? Suicidally stupid idea.

And yet, there was Castiel, just waiting for an answer to his question. Did Dean want the damn ride back to his car or not?

"You're making it up to me later." Dean said finally.

Sighing, Castiel actually had the gall to roll his eyes ever so slightly. "I already told you I would drive you to your car."

And then, much to Sam's shock and horror, Dean took Cas by the collar of his shirt, pulled him close and pressed a rather aggressive kiss to the other man's mouth.

By the way that Cas just easily went along with it all after only the smallest of startled noises, hands coming up to rest against Dean's sides, it was uncomfortably apparent that this was not their first time doing such things. And Sam felt for all the world like he'd walked in on his parents doing something that no child should ever walk in on their parents doing.

Dean felt a need to clarify between kisses that he wasn't talking about getting a ride anywhere, "No. You are making it up to me later."

Castiel just made a small 'oh' kind of sound against Dean's mouth, and Sam realized that he'd already witnessed far too much to get any kind of good night's sleep for the next week or so.

Face and neck feeling hot, and stomach churning more than just a little, he took quick and quiet steps back up to the relative safety of the hallway.

It's not like the Winchesters had ever been all that open about their sex lives. They knew each other had them to some extent, and really, that was far more than enough when it came to what you would ever want to accidently imagine your sibling doing.

But holy hell.

Sam had just assumed that Dean would tell him something like this.

Then again…

Yeah.

This was actually exactly what Sam felt that he could expect from his brother. Dean had given him way too much grief for having dated Nick, and for falling so hard and so painfully. Dean wasn't the kind of guy who would want to rub it in by parading around the fact that he was getting to rub up against Sam's ex's younger brother.

Oh, but Sam longed for the time when he never could have even imagined having problems like these.

When he finally felt it was safe again to go back downstairs, that maybe the horror show had ended (he'd heard the front door closing, followed by a car pulling out of the driveway), he was surprised to find that his cell phone was sitting on the dinner table. A post-it note stuck to it saying simply 'you told me not to give it back to you until you were sober'. It wasn't in Dean's handwriting. Which let Sam know that apparently Cas was good at tending to both brother's unique problems in turn.

Sam almost wanted to tell the guy thanks again- but at the same time, he felt that Dean probably had all the bases covered at this point.

All of Castiel's bases.

Eww.

Sam groggily made some toast, hoping that it would be bland enough to not bother his still queasy stomach (which was almost wholly from the drinking last night and not residual anxiety over finding out why Castiel spent the night sometimes). His phone was left to sit alone on the center of the table, carefully and cautiously avoided like some kind of venomous creature.

Sam knew.

He knew like a self fulfilling prophecy that as soon as he flipped his phone open and looked at recent calls he would only see Nick's name there mocking him. But he couldn't avoid it forever, and his curiosity and dread eventually evened out, as he sat down with his toast and picked up the seemingly innocent little phone.

And yes.

Right there.

In big blue letters.

Nick.

Sam had called him last night.

Not once.

Not twice.

But eight times.

Each one no more than a minute apart, all missed calls, except the last one.

Sam put his face in his hands and his toast sat and got cold on the edge of the table beside his elbow.

But cold toast was ok, just bland, crunchy bread really, and Sam couldn't just teeter on the edge of such a delightful abundance of anxiety for too long. He had finals starting tomorrow, and that meant a rather limited amount of time to cram in a few more hours of studying. It seemed like a good idea to just get this out of the way, to put the feeling out of it's misery.

So, in a moment of absolute clarity, without any of the hesitation that needed to be there, he hit the redial button and pressed the phone to his ear.

Nick picked up surprisingly fast. "Sam?"

Ah, there was that horrified sense of self preservation that would have helped him out immensely a few seconds earlier. Hitting him like a physical weight, knocking the breath from him as he struggled to deal with the fact that Nick still sounded just like himself, and Sam had somehow managed to forget just how much he enjoyed the sound of the man's voice.

"Did you make it home alright?" Nick pressed when Sam failed to have any kind of verbal response to his greeting.

"I… yeah." Great and glorious, eloquent use of words being dragged out out of him. "Last night did I, um-"

"You did." Nick assured in a way that didn't sound at all amused. "Now can you do us both a favor and lose my number?"

And then there was a dial tone ringing softly in Sam's ear.

It would have hurt a lot more if he wasn't still reeling in the upside down, tumbling feeling caused by the fact that Nick had answered and actually sounded worried for a few seconds.

Today wasn't going to be the day, and tomorrow wouldn't be either. Hell, years from right then might still not be enough time to clear the air, because Nick really, really struck Sam as someone who was good at holding a grudge.

But maybe the man didn't hate absolutely everything about Sam. And maybe, just maybe, things wouldn't always have to be horrible between them.

Not if Nick still worried.

.:.

Dean was frowning at them just like a little kid whose parents are going out for the night without him. Telling him to be a good boy while they were gone. "But, I wanna go too."

"It's an art gallery," Castiel tried again to explain why it was that Dean had not been invited to come along with him and Sam.

"Mostly landscapes." The younger Winchester reminded. "No naked girls."

Without a glimmer of understanding, Dean just kind of grunted at them, "Then why are you guys even going?"

"Because life can't always be just naked girls." Sam rolled his eyes. "We'll be back in a few hours."

"Hours?" Dean was openly disgusted by the suggestion."Hours with a bunch of paintings of trees? You two sure know how to suck the fun right out of a good time."

Which was a fair point.

But they left any ways.

They left Dean pouting on the couch, and Sam almost felt bad for intentionally not inviting his brother, though he honestly wasn't even sure why he'd agreed to go along with Castiel in the first place.

He just knew that Dean would have been bored out of his mind, and them leaving him behind was a mercy. For everyone involved.

As it had been explained to him earlier today, apparently the accounting firm that Castiel belonged to also did the books for a few of the little art galleries in town, and one of them had a big show that was opening tonight.

At first Sam had been confused as to why Cas had invited him to come along. He certainly couldn't remember ever telling the guy that he had an interest in art- just like he couldn't remember ever forming much of an interest in art in the first place. But the oddness of the invitation had quickly turned into kind of a warm, affectionate familiarity.

Castiel had extended the invitation like they were friends.

And how things had been going lately, Sam wasn't about to pass up having a friend.

Cas wouldn't have necessarily been his first choice. The guy was… he was odd at best. And there were some uncomfortable kinds of moments, little smiles and aborted laughter, when Sam found himself reminded of someone else all together.

Funny how a half brother who wasn't even raised with Nick could still smile in the same tight lipped, dark humored kind of way. Or how they had the same overly large nervous kind of hands that fidgeted endlessly.

Granted, Cas didn't pick at his lip, or bite his thumb. He was a bit more subtle in his movements than his big brother. But Sam was stuck in a car with him while they drove downtown, and couldn't help but feel anxious at the other man's almost endless fidgeting.

Tugging at the steering wheel cover as he drove.

Clicking his nails together lightly at each red light.

There were signs that something was odd about them going out together, and Sam stubbornly refused to acknowledge them. Mostly out of self preservation. He just wanted something normal. He needed it. Needed to not see a giant conspiracy in the offer of basic human interaction.

The last of his finals had hit a few days ago, breaking up the nice clean rhythm that Sam had built up for himself the past few weeks. Wake up, go to class, do some homework, pointedly not think about the people he wasn't dating, study, sleep, then repeat- except on Fridays when getting breakfast with June fell between waking up and going to class.

And as strange, and confusing as his time with the kid always seemed to be, even their walks had started to find a way to feel routine and comfortable to him.

Tonight kind of shook things up a bit.

It was healthy for him though.

Probably.

It was certainly different if nothing else.

"How have you been?" Sam broke the not quite comfortable silence of the night darkened car as the houses outside gave way to industrial complexes.

Castiel looked at him sideways, confused little tilt to his head- like he hadn't been expecting anyone to ask. "Fine."

Hardly more than a week ago Sam had stood as an unwilling witness to some rather unexpected activities between this man here and Dean. And oddly he still hadn't come up with a good way to breach the subject. Though, perhaps it was something best left alone. There was very little chance that any conversation beginning with 'so have you had sex with my brother yet?' was going to go in a direction that Sam would enjoy.

Truth be told, he was dreadfully curious about it. Not enough to ask. But so, so very curious now that the shock had worn off. It's just that Dean had always stuck him as a one hundred percent, hetrosexual, womanizing, son of a bitch. Maybe it had all just been years of over compensation.

Sam watched Castiel's worried hands fretting with the steering wheel again, and made the decision that Dean really could do a lot worse, and there was nothing wrong with just leaving it alone for the time being.

The gallery wasn't all that far away. In a town this small, nothing was.

Now, Sam liked to think that in comparison to his family members he was the most refined one (not that John or Dean had put up much of a competition for the title), but other than a couple of museum field trips when he was still in grammar school, Sam hadn't stepped foot in any kind of art gallery in about a decade.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting to find after so many years.

Not wine.

Strangely, beverages hadn't been offered to him and his fellow ten year olds when they'd gone to the museum of modern art in Kansas City.

It must just be one of the perks of growing older he supposed.

Castiel nodded towards the tray with the the plastic glasses half full of a pale something or other that didn't smell like it was going to go down all that smooth. "I'm driving later, but if you would like to…"

"I'm not much of a wine drinker."

"I don't think it's much of a wine." He picked up one of the glasses, after some narrow eyed consideration, before handing it over to Sam.

If it was anyone else, Sam might have accused him of trying to get him drunk. But this was Castiel, and it was half a glass of watered down wine, and there was nothing too sinister about it.

So he took the glass with a smile, shaking his head, looking at the milling group of people who were probably mostly students. They certainly had that tired, determined look about them as they talked and laughed and looked at the paintings that hung at even intervals around the oddly shaped room. Sam could tell that the space went back much farther than he originally thought, with these little half walls jutting out now and then to provide interruptions to the visitor's line of sight, making the room seeme like many small rooms put together. Odd little halls this way and that, set up so you couldn't see the back of the building.

And here were the promised landscapes. Lovely tree lines that were oddly soothing to look at. Not exciting, but Sam hadn't really been hoping to find excitement here. Just a nice mental break.

Cas walked with him and together they did what everyone else was doing. Standing at what seemed the ideal art viewing distance, looking for a while, then nodding and moving on to the next peice. They did this for about five whole minutes before Sam caught on that this was not a one person art show.

He figured it out about the same time that they turned one of the corners and Sam came face to face with a really beautiful painting of a little boy sitting on a bus seat beside a ThunderCats backpack almost as large as he was, his little narrow back turned to the viewers as he looked out a night dark window, pale face half reflected back in the glass. It was a completely different flavor than the landscapes. Considerably less peaceful, and significantly more like like a stolen glance into a place that Sam should not have gone.

He could have easily moved on to the next few paintings, admiring each of them in turn simply for the obvious skill involved. But no. Sam happened to glance at the little piece of paper to the right of the painting of the little boy to see that it had been titled 'Because I was too young to argue', which was followed with a little notation of 'oil paint on birch board', and a damning artist name of 'N. Shurley'.

Sam could actually feel his brain reject that last line of text. Refusing to acknowledge it as anything that should mean something to him.

The next painting was maybe only two feet tall, but probably six or eight feet long. More nighttime, starlight falling on low waves and wet sand. There was the hot glow of a bonfire on the far side, the flames casting long shadows of three gangly figures who were silhouetted in the dark, their arms raised up like they were challenging the sea and the night and anything else that might be foolish enough to dare come against them.

'Because we were young, and knew everything' was typed in neat little letters beside it.

Sam rounded a corner, coming to a short stop beside quite a few other people who were standing in quiet awe, dwarfed by the next painting. And he'd actually seen this one before, but the lack of newness didn't detract from the impressive skill of the painting. Rich, soft looking blankets pooling around softer looking hips. Textures and shadows so careful and precise and clean that Sam wanted to step in closer and tuck her in. To do something to alleviate the oddly anticipatory, and still nervous expression that the girl wore.

This one was called 'Because she was supposed to go to prom with my brother but he took someone else''. Which was a significantly more specific and personal kind of title than Sam had been expecting.

He swallowed down the last little bit of wine that he'd started working on back when they were still looking at trees, before turning to the man who had brought him here for now painfully obvious reasons. "Cas," Sam could hear the plea in his own voice and he hated it. "No."

And the accountant had the audacity to look innocently confused. "What?"

"Your brother painted these."

For a second it looked like Castiel was actually going to keep up the ignorant act, but then he just kind of sighed and offered Sam a gentle, guiltless smile. "Some of them. Yes."

"I shouldn't be here." Which was a bit of an understatement.

"Well, he's not here." Came Castiel's clearly well thought out argument. "And you needed to see these."

Sam seemed to have found himself in another one of those situations where nothing good could possibly come from participating. He could practically see the ground rushing up to meet him as he stepped off this particular cliff- but it still didn't stop him.

Their time together had long since past him up, and Sam had proven that he couldn't handle the responsibility of knowing anything too personal without using it with some kind of malicious ill intent. He felt that he had no right to pry Nick open at this late of a point, but he still couldn't help himself.

Mainly because he really, really wanted to see the rest of the painting- and what was good and right could be damned.

For Sam it was like he'd missed the first half of the movie when he'd met Nick. And yes, it was over now. The credits had rolled, and everyone else had left the theater. But someone had taken the time to reload the reels, and suddenly here, right here, was the beginning.

All those things that Sam had missed the first time around.

And sure, they were only paintings, but they said a lot more about Nick than Nick ever said about himself.

He moved quietly, from painting to painting- there weren't that many. It wasn't a whole life's story here. Just a baker's dozen of little windows into things that Sam had never been brave enough to ask about, things that were too personal to share, just laid bare for strangers to admire and talk about while they stood with friends and drank cheap wine.

Cas had very little to say about any of them. Nothing at all until Sam stopped and looked for what felt like forever at a painting of a rather young, messy haired, bruised eyed, kid. Sitting on well worn porch steps, holding an orange popsicle awkwardly in hands that were scabbed and scraped. Smiling out at them with a smear of drying blood under his nose and over his split lip. '

Sam glanced over at the real thing Castiel. The man was older now. No bruises, and wearing a considerably more subdued smile. But the resemblance was unmistakable.

"How old were you?"

"I was sixteen." He glanced at Sam and took a sharp breath before practically giving a speech. Stringing more words together at a time than the younger man had ever heard him say. "I'd only just come to live with them… my father and my brothers. I was… strange when I was younger. A new kid in a new school, without any friends, and for some reason this made the other boys hate me. They would follow me home. They did it for weeks- and unfortunately for them, one day Nick was home when I got there.

"And he was almost never around. He had a job, and school, and really hated being anywhere near us it seemed. It was just odd coincidence that he happened to be there when they were pushing me up the sidewalk." And Castiel smiled, just as big and as crooked as the painting looming over them. "I thought that Nick was going to kill them. I think they thought so too. But all he did was bloody them up a bit and chase them off. Then we sat on the porch… for hours. It was the first time I think that we'd ever really spoken… it was the first time I felt like I belonged there with them, and that this terrifying man who brought me a popsicle, because he didn't know what else to do to make me feel better, was really my brother."

And, as stupid as it seemed, Sam wanted to hug Cas. He didn't. Because the man didn't sound sad about this event that had happened to him a decade before. Just oddly content to share the knowledge that he had a big brother whom he was rather proud of.

Sam could relate rather strongly to that feeling.

With a shuffling little step, Cas came to stand in front of him. The lack of respect for personal space only slightly setting Sam on edge.

"They let me come in yesterday while they were hanging the pieces." He explained as he placed a hand on either of Sam's shoulders and started steering him, walking him backwards and to one side. "I want you to see this one over here, and I'd like you to explain it to me, because Nick wouldn't."

Despite the frown that he could feel forming between his eyes, Sam found himself laughing. At this point in his life he really felt that the one thing that he was not an expert on was Nick. Being asked to explain something, anything, when he was still struggling to untangle the fight that the'd had months ago, there was no way that he was going to be able to-

Cas squared Sam up to a rather small painting. The smallest one he'd seen so far tonight. And for a few horrifying moments Sam was at a complete loss for words, because that right there on the wall, was a painting of him.

He may have been doped up well and good on cough syrup at the time, and his brain fried due to a high fever when Nick had taken the apparently rather inspirational photo with his phone- but that didn't mean that Sam had forgotten about it.

Just like it didn't seem to matter all that much that Nick had promised to delete the evidence.

Apparently the man just had a very, very photographic memory.

Which was not fair.

Not fair at all, because now there was a painting of Nick's rather pale hand fondling Sam's equally pale ass, the long line of his back with those stupid little dimples, his pants tugged a bit too low, hips settled snugly between Nick's thighs, hung up on a wall in a gallery for strangers to see.

"I feel like it's easier to take in if you stand back a bit farther." Castiel said simply, and Sam was too stunned to say anything in his own defence as the shorter man nudged him back two more steps- which was just far enough that Sam bumped into someone, jarring him into overcoming some of that stricken horror.

He half turned to apologize to the person behind him, but he couldn't make it that far- because for just a second he caught scent of them, and most of Sam's higher functions simply quit on the spot.

It's not like Nick even wore aftershave or cologne or anything like that. It was just the subtle mix of his shampoo, and deodorant, and the scent of his skin had become deeply ingrained in some of the less easily ignored parts of Sam's mind. The smell of waking up in Nick's bed, tangled in the messy layers of blankets, sharing a single pillow despite the fact that there were others.

And the memories came unbidden to him, rushing over Sam like feral waves. He could see Nick laying in his arms. Could feel the soft gravel of his low laugh prickling along his skin. He knew the curve of their bodies, and how they could fit together like two perfect circles. The way that Nick would breath against him in that ragged way while dragging his teeth along Sam's bare skin. How in the mornings he tasted like the coffee that he always had in place of food. The feel of his rough hands pulling at Sam's clothes. His soft content sighs when they were tucked together late at night after all the lights were out and they'd lost their words to the peaceful draw of sleep.

Those and a million other memories, moving through him like a living thing. All so involuntary and painful, and too fresh to be nostalgic, but too colored with longing to be anything else.

It was all he could do to look down at Castiel with an expression that must have roared betrayal, because the little accountant was shrugging, and mouthing the words 'I lied' before letting go and ducking around a corner and out of sight.

" 'm sorry." Nick said easily from behind Sam, really obviously not yet aware who it was that had bumped into him- who was still standing at his back, with their shoulders and arms touching

And it was almost funny how Sam could tell the exact moment that Nick must have actually turned around to see who it was. The sharp breath and sharper click of teeth were sign enough.

Sam figured that he could just not turn around. That he could simply march out the front door with never actually looking back. Running from the situation as a healthy alternative to whatever was inevitably about to take place.

But he didn't have a car, and all it would have gotten him was some quiet time standing alone outside until Cas took pity on him. And seeing as the traitorous little accountant had been the one to very blatantly facilitate this whole thing, the chances for pity weren't looking too good.

Bracing himself and drawing a nice deep breath (which oddly didn't help with the fact that Sam wanted to just turn and press his face into Nick throat and breath him in), he chose the very adult option here of saying rather softly, "Just because we're not dating any more doesn't mean that you can show strangers my ass."

Nick laughed, this choked off, brittle sound.

Between looking at the rather uncomfortable painting and looking over at Nick, Sam stuck firmly with his first choice, admiring the nice warm colors that had been used to shade his all those pleasant muscles that he didn't really know that he'd had, tightly corded along his lower back.

"I mean it." He said in the least feeling way that he could manage right then.

"Hate to break it to you, dar…" Nick lightly cleared his throat, "Sam. And don't take this the wrong way, but I don't actually give a flying fuck how you feel about this one."

"Don't you have to have my permission or something to paint me?"

"What makes you think it's even you?"

The noise that came out of Sam was supposed to come off as offended and annoyed at the fact that this man was being just as intentionally as difficult as always. Even to his own ears, it sounded too much like a startled laugh. Not a happy laugh. But instead something wounded and panicked. Defensive.

"You're making jokes?" He struggled to keep his tone even and under control. "You can't just pin me naked up on a wall for fucking anybody to see."

It was a confusing situation to be in, missing someone so much that it hurt, but still managing to feel betrayed, and at the same time want more than anything to turn to them, pull them in, and kiss them senseless.

"Really? You want to do this?" The weirdly bitter humor was still strong in Nick's voice, coming from just over Sam's right shoulder, buzzing softly in his ear, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. "I mean, I can see how you could get so offended. Here's a painting of an ass that only you and I know the owner thereof, that literally has no affect on you, or how anyone who looks at it is going to view you because there is no possible way for any connection to be made between you and it- but for me, it's a self portrait. It's a public announcement that I gleefully indulged in a lot of sex with another man. It's my name on it, and it's my friends and coworkers who have been asking me about it. But yeah. You go ahead and get all offended. You are very, very good at it after all."

Which shut Sam up rather thoroughly.

"No. Go ahead." Nick insisted, nudging gently at Sam's shoulder with his own. "I'd love to hear it."

From where he was standing Sam could just make out the little tag beside the painting.

'Because I didn't want to keep pretending that I hadn't fallen in love'

And how the hell was he supposed to yell at Nick with words like those printed out so crisp and unmistakable? He stood there, mute as a rock, letting all those things that had been whispered against him sink in. Imagining what it would have felt like to go back to Kansas, to stand in front of his old friends that he'd grown up with, whose opinions still mattered on some strange level. To look at his uncle Bobby, or his aunt and cousin, and just boldly say 'I used to date a guy. We had a lot of sex and fell in love- not necessarily all in that order'.

It was almost paralyzingly terrifying.

Like when he'd told Dean that what his brother had thought was a real relationship had actually been a fake one that had gotten grossly out of hand, and that he'd actually fallen ass over teakettle in love with this wonderful and terrible train wreck of a man.

Sam sidestepped so that he could actually see the Nick from the corner of his eye without fully facing him and feeling too vulnerable. Which was a grossly inadequate gesture, because as it turned out, Nick was wearing one of Sam's shirts.

At least, Sam was fairly certain that it was his. It looked suspiciously like his favorite shirt that had gone missing months back. That simple fact paired with that he was willing to bet money that Nick didn't own a single plaid shirt.

And it was such a startling development that Sam hadn't been prepared for, that he really had no idea which problem to address first.

That was most definitely his ass up there on display.

And that was his shirt.

And Nick smelled really, really good.

Apparently all that careful working through his feelings and learning to cope with and ignore most of them completely fell apart when Nick got close enough to touch.

"How are they taking it?" He heard himself asking in a hollow sounding voice.

"One of my employees actually quit. And now Anna's not talking to me."

Sam blinked, turning just a bit more to look at Nick's face, see if he was being serious. "But she already knew about the whole us 'dating'."

"She knew we said we were dating, and she thought it was just something I was pretending to do to make Michael mad. You see, she's an upsettingly observant woman."

"She thought we were lying?"

"She did."

"Well, we were."

"And then we weren't. And she's… she's not happy with me."

"It's not like you did it on purpose."

"Sure as hell didn't." Nick agreed.

"I'm… sorry." It didn't feel like the right thing to say. Sorry didn't quite fill the space of what Sam was currently experiencing, but he couldn't find the right words, just like he couldn't help himself but to reach out and brush his fingers over Nick's stolen sleeve.

The man finally shifted, taking a small step away, moving just out of 'accidental' reaching range.

"How was your birthday- aside from the obviously ample amount of liquor?"

It felt wrong that Sam wanted so much to just pretend that he lived in a world where Nick happened to remember what day his birthday fell on. That he could actually be that kind of important to this man- when in all likelihood, Sam had probably announced the fact that he was officially older when he'd talked with Nick during their mysterious conversation a few nights ago.

"I had a lot more to drink than I'd planned. I-I don't even remember calling you." Which, considering that he hadn't started out the night with any kinds of thoughts towards alcohol or Nick, it was a bit of an understatement.

"Some people have all the luck."

Sam frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling like he was somehow being picked on suddenly- and it wasn't as fun as it had always been before.

"I mean it. I had to listen to you wax poetic about missing my smile, and laugh, and then I got to listen to you getting worried that I didn't know how much you missed the sex too. Apparently I have a real nice laugh when I fuck." One of the greatest skills that Nick had (that Sam had picked up on in the half year that he'd known him), was his amazing ability to deadpan his way through the most ridiculously embarrassing and inappropriate phrases.

Sam's face felt hot, and he would have traded just about anything to be able to deny what Nick had just told him. To simply shrug it all off as nothing that he would ever consider saying. Only… those words were a staggeringly accurate accompaniment to the warm and unwelcome memories that Sam kept having as he stood here in a crowded room of strangers and tried to stay focused on the fact that he and Nick weren't really… they… they weren't really much of anything to eachother right now.

He pulled around him the sheltering parts of his brother that he'd internalized over the years as a self defense mechanism. Something to make himself feel safer and more in control of things, if only just a bit. "You're a real son of a bitch sometimes. You know that?"

"It's been brought to my attention more than once, yes."

There was not a good place to rest his eyes. Not on Nick, and certainly not on the painting hanging in front of him. Sam settled on looking to the far side of the room, trying to see where Castiel had run off to. "That's my shirt you're wearing by the way."

Nick chuckled, still standing close enough to allow the sound free range to shiver through Sam.

"First it's your ass, now it's your shirt. Anything else you want to claim while you're here?"

No safe answer to that presented it's to Sam.

The dull white noise of the two dozen or so people milling around that neither of them knew sort of settled between them. The fact that neither of them was saying anything became more and more obvious until it almost hurt.

Nick broke first though. "Why are you here?" Uncertain, almost gentle voice, like he wasn't sure if he really wanted the answer.

"Your brother tricked me." Which was the short version, but Sam felt that it summed it up nicely.

"He's certainly getting better at it." Nick observed evenly. "Hey, you think we should pretend to start dating like we did last time he did this?"

It was thrown out there so casually, like a back handed slap. Sam felt his throat get tight and he honestly couldn't say what sort of emotion it was that he was feeling, only that it was strong. Almost too strong to get any reply past.

"I think I'll pass this time around, if it's all the same."

"Probably a good idea." Nick said after a halting kind of pause. "But you always were the smart one, weren't you, college boy?"

Months since he'd heard that particular nickname, and Sam found that his gut reaction to it was best shoved back down from whatever dark corner it had roared up from. Punching Nick right then really wouldn't have made anything any better.

It probably wouldn't have made anything any worse though either.

.:.

"Why are you still carrying your backpack if you finished school?" June asked as she blew on her hot cocoa. It was the end of May, and in Sam's opinion, warm enough that they were well and truly past hot beverage season. But June knew what she wanted, and Sam had rapidly learned that it was best not to argue with her.

Sam had his last final almost a week ago (which June found unfair, seeing as she still had three weeks of school). "I'm going to try and sell back the books I don't need anymore." He said, adjusting the bag again.

She frowned, like she either didn't believe him or just didn't understand why this is something that he would do, but she changed the topic just as fast as she always did instead of questioning his actions. "Since you don't have school then can you walk me home?"

"Isn't Cas picking you up?"

"He doesn't know it's a half day of school."

"What about your dad?"

"He's not allowed to drive- and he doesn't have a car anyways."

It was Sam's turn to frown. It didn't surprise him that Nick might have lost his license, but that didn't explain why he suddenly didn't have a car. "He can't walk you home?"

She looked up at Sam in that disappointed way that she did so well, like she still, after all these weeks had a hard time accepting just how stupid he could be. "He just got his cast off, he can't walk that far."

"How were you planning on getting yourself home if I say no?"

"You're too nice to say no."

Which was true, but that didn't meant that Sam was willing to simply give in without a fight. "How did you tell your dad you were going to get home?"

"I said that I would walk with a friend." Which was followed by a brilliant smile, leaving little to no doubt who that friend was going to be if she had any say in it.

Sam shook his head and pushed the button for the crosswalk, waiting while the morning traffic moved a few feet away from them. "Your dad's apartment has to be like… five miles from your school. They make you walk that far?"

June tilted her head in a remarkably good owl impersonation, blinking up at him with almost visible knots being worked out through whatever problem was in her mind. "His apartment…?" She licked her lips before smiling a smile that looked like a real struggle to keep under control. "I walk to uncle Casey's house. It's not far at all."

If Cas was giving her rides then it kind of made sense to just go to his place, and suddenly her request seemed ten times less suicidal. "Yeah… I can walk with you." It's not like he had other plans later today. And without a chance of accidently running into Nick, he really couldn't come up with a good reason to tell her no.

"Have you ever been to Uncle's house?"

"... no?" Were as he and the other man got along well enough, even after the whole tricking Sam into talking to Nick thing last week, they weren't really at the point in their relationship where they went to each other's houses for the sake of going to eachother's houses

"Great!" She grinned at him over her cocoa.

And if Sam hadn't been beaten and ground down to a numb mess from his finals, he might have really felt the sinister threat in that small child's inexplicable joy.

It's not like it wasn't disturbingly obvious to Sam that he shouldn't have let himself get attached to June, or let her get so attached to him. There were all the reasons in the world why it was a bad idea. And there wasn't even a point of commonality between them. Sam had never in his life been an independent, strong willed little girl, nor did he plan to be at any point. He had very few female friends, and none of them were even close to June's often reiterated ten years of age. But he liked her. He liked their Fridays, and their slow walks towards her school.

At first, Sam had tried to come up with a good reason why he let himself get involved, and worry for, and laugh with this kid. He knew that he should be just about anywhere else every Friday morning, while he waited for her at the coffee shop with a hot cocoa in hand for her. But once a week, that's where he was. Sometimes she would link arms with him while they walked. Sometimes she would walk backwards so she could watch his face in an overly intense kind of way while asking him questions about his distant homeland of Kansas, and if he always wanted to be a giant while growing up, and if he was happy now that he could look clouds in the eye.

But as time went on, he found that he loved the way that she rambled, like the world was too big and exciting to focus on any one thought for too long. He also loved how she would talk about her Papa. She made Nick sound so happy and unlike himself.

Sam could easily pretend that it was someone else all together. A wonderful sort of father for the tiny blonde monster who never stepped on the pavement cracks while they walked. Someone who had let June buy a puppy with the money that her mother had left with her to buy a bus ticket to her grandmother's house once she'd grown tired of living out here. A kind of dad who was teaching her to play Elvis songs on his violin, because The King deserved some kind of proper homage that she planned to pay him in any way that she could.

Whatever the reason that Sam wasn't quite willing to acknowledge or accept, he met her after school that afternoon. She ran to him, long hair flying every which way as she wove through the other students towards the man who literally towered over everyone else out on the front sidewalk.

"I was worried that you would change your mind."

"Hey, I told you I would. So here I am."

She grinned like a lunatic, all teeth and soft dimples on her freckled cheeks. "You're dependable. I like that."

Sam shook his head and gestured away from the school in a broad, sweeping motion. "Lead the way and I'll try to keep up."

Passing her well worn, and obviously second hand backpack to Sam, she started walking, shrugging out of the blue and grey plaid shirt that she'd been wearing over what looked to be two or three tank tops of varying colors. She knotted the sleeves around her waist looked rather pleased with herself and her shedding of layers. It was one of Sam's old flannels (apparently he'd left quite a few of them behind at Nick's place months ago), and she wore it almost every morning that he'd seen her, just kind of swimming in the shirt with her narrow little shoulders and thin arms. It looked almost like a skirt with how she was wearing it now.

"It's too warm for sleeves," she explained as she took back her book bag. "But school's got this stupid dress code that says you can't have bare shoulders."

Sam nodded like he understood why this was an important topic, even though it hardly pinged on his radar, because looking down at her he was reminded again that she had a couple of scars similar to her father's. Little pink burn marks on her arms.

"They're from the chickenpox." June offered in a sideways kind of way, taking note that he was taking note.

He almost asked if the long silvery pale scar that ran from her ear down over her shoulder was supposed to be from chickenpox too, but the painfully obvious lie needed to be left alone. It wasn't anything that he could fix for her. And she was living with her dad now. Safe and sound.

"Did you know that we have an end of the year field trip to your school? I told the teacher that it's closed, but she said that they still give tours. That's like the lamest field trip ever. If I wanted to go look at a boring old school then I'd have you take me." She barreled on to whatever thoughts were running through her mind, hardly waiting for Sam to catch up. "Back in Vegas we had much cooler field trips."

"Did they take you guys to the casinos and just set you free at the penny slots?"

"I wish." She giggled. "We did get to go to the zoo this one time and I saw a real bear. They do not look like the stuffed animals." And so on their conversation went. Bears lead to camping. Camping to scuba diving somehow in a way that Sam couldn't quite figure out- and that lead to cage diving with sharks off the coast of Africa. By the time they'd reached Cas' house they were arguing about whether or not giant squid would taste good or not, which was underlined with the disagreement on if it would even be worth the effort of catching. The rambling kind of conversations wasted time marvelously and Sam was a little sad when he realized that they were done.

June was digging her house key out of her backpack as she lead Sam up the sidewalk to the modest little single story with flower beds of bushy blue flowers. "Do you want a drink of water or anything?"

"I should probably get back home." Sam excused himself easily enough. Not that anyone was expecting him back soon. Dean would still be at work for a few more hours. It was just that… well, he was already very overly aware that he was overstepping his boundaries of an ex-boyfriend by walking June home. Going into a house with her just felt like a terrible plan for some reason.

"Come on. It's hot out. You need to stay hydrated."

It smelled like a trap. Not that Sam was a naturally suspicious kind of guy, but he felt that he knew June just well enough to see that she was up to something.

He went inside anyways.

The house felt almost like the more lived in version of Nick's place. Castiel owned things. Things other than books and a lumpy couch. Not as much of a minimalist as his brother, but obviously not any more interested in decorating or entertaining. Though, there was a tv, which would have looked normal in anyone else's house, but just seemed weirdly out of place for Castiel to own. Sam wasn't going to judge.

Like leading a lamb to be slaughtered, June marched in the direction that one could presumably find a kitchen, with Sam in tow.

"How about a manatee?" She asked over her shoulder as she grabbed a cup and filled it with water from the sink. "They're called sea cows and look a lot easier to catch than a squid."

Which was an interesting proposition, though Sam doubted that it would be easy to market manatee burgers. He was just about to let her know when his ankles were suddenly accosted by a small ball of black fur that was snorting and huffing and bouncing around on his toes.

In all likelihood it was a dog. June seemed convinced at least as she handed Sam his glass of water and scooped up the dog that was roughly the same size as Sam's shoe, maybe a bit smaller.

"This is Meatball." June gently shook the dog upward in Sam's direction.

And whereas he'd never been all that interested in pugs, he couldn't argue that it was possible the cutest little wrinkly furball he'd seen in a long while. "She's adorable." He gave his approval while holding a hand out for the little dog to snuffle and lick.

"Papa wanted a bigger dog- but I love her and she's perfect. Aren't you?" June burried her face in Meatball's back while the tiny dog filled the air with happy little snorting noises. "My perfect little princess."

Sam felt thoroughly weakened by the adorableness of this sight. He'd always wanted a dog, a real dog, not a piglet pretending it was a dog, but still.

"June-bug?" A rather familiar and out of place voice called from down the hall. "You home early?"

Back going ridged, Sam froze in place.

"Yes!" June yelled in the direction of the door.

Why was Nick here? He wasn't supposed to be here. Specifically Sam had agreed to walk June to Castiel's house because it had promised to be a Nick free zone. By the unapologetic smile that June was wearing, the fact that the two of them were not alone in this house had not come as a surprise to her.

An almost overwhelming feeling of betrayal came over Sam. They were supposed to be friends (as much as you can be friends with someone who is half your age). "You-"

"I'm such a good helper." She insisted, holding her dog up before her face like a shield, using the animal to try and hide her wide grin.

"This isn't helping." Sam whispered harshly, looking around to see if there was a back door to the kitchen. Some way to slip out so he could avoid the very bad thing that was about to come down the hall and find him where he should not be.

"You're welcome." She half curtseyed to him, flicking out the edge of the flannel around her waist like a skirt, before scampering well out of arm's reach over towards the only way in and out of the kitchen. "I told you it was a half day, Papa."

"I don't remember that." And Nick sounded closer. Sam could actually hear the soft, shuffling walk as the man came down the hall towards them.

"My friend came home with me." June looked over her shoulder back at Sam with a positively gleeful grin. "Did you want to meet him?"

"Him?" So much threat put into a single word, it was amazing. But then again, Nick had always been a rather talented man when it came to the subtle emphasis that he could put into his words.

And Sam had just a few seconds to brace himself, before Nick came into the room, sliding a protective arm around his daughter's shoulders as he did, and by the way that he stumbled when he saw Sam standing there in the middle of the kitchen, as obvious as a circus parade, that he was expecting just about anyone else at that moment.

"Oh." A bit of surprise in his voice that faded far too fast into something dark and fairly menacing. "Oh."

"This is Mister Sam." June explained needlessly, from the comfortable looking shelter of her dad's side. "He's super nice."

"June, go to your room."

She snorted and rolled her eyes.

Nick looked down at her, bending almost in half so that he could say it from her level. "Go."

"Come on-"

"Go. Go work on your homework. I don't want you and Meatball seeing me kill Mister Sam, June. "

"It's Friday. I don't have homework."

"Then go practice your violin. Or read a book. You just can't be in here for a bit."

"You're not allowed to be that mad." She told him very sternly.

"You want to bet?"

"Fine." She shifted her grip on the happily wiggling dog in her arms. "But don't kill him. He needs to buy me breakfast again next week."

Sam rubbed at the headache that was growing steadily between his eyes, marveling at how effortlessly this child could dig such a pretty grave for him.

Both men watched as June slipped past her papa to leave them alone with whatever horrible thing was about to happen between them. And Nick waited. He waited until they could hear a door close down the hall, and a few seconds latter the tortured cat sounds of a violin being tuned.

"There's a really good explanation for this." Sam tried to start things off first, too keep the higher ground, wanting to get out some clarification before things got any worse.

Nick's head snapped back to him and the man's pale eyes narrowed into slits. "Either you knew she was my daughter and you followed her home, and we're going to have to have some very strong words- or you didn't know she was mine, and you're just in the habit of going home with fifth grade girls, and if that's the case we will have some very different words and then I will actually have to probably kill you."

Which was fair.

"I tried to call you once a few months back, right after I found out that you'd been in an accident, and she answered your phone." It seemed like Sam should have worked out the explanation for this months ago when he realized what a stupid thing he was doing that he we bound to one day have to explain to a very protective father. "She… talked me into going to visit you, and you basically told me to go fuck myself. Week later she pretended to be you and asked me out for breakfast. Apparently she wanted to meet the guy that her uncles kept talking about."

"And now you walk her home?"

"No. I… I just walk her to school on Fridays."

Nick stared at him like he'd never seen him before. Like this was some stranger standing here in the kitchen and saying these unwelcome things in his direction.

"What, are you hoping for an apology?" Sam squared himself out, knowing that there was only going to be one way out of this room. "Her and Cas are both in on this together. I know they were." Blaming someone else was always an option.

For a few seconds it seemed like it was going to work too, if only because Nick hadn't advanced on him with raised fist.

"She was walking from school after Cas dropped her off to this coffee shop a few blocks down the street. It didn't seem safe to let her walk alone."

"You could have, I don't know... not encouraged her? Maybe told her dad what she was doing?"

"I wasn't trying to encourage her, and I was pretty sure that if I tried to explain it to you then this right here would happen. It seemed safer all around to just give in and go along with it."

With a trembling breath, Nick ran a hand over his face, peering out from between his fingers at Sam.

"I'm not doing it on purpose." The younger man promised. "She said I was walking her to Cas' house. I didn't think you'd be here."

"Castiel and I switched homes after I got out of the hospital." Nick let his head fall back for a moment. Eyes closed. Collecting himself. "He doesn't need all this space and I wasn't up to all the stairs." The anger was gone just as quickly as it had come. But that was just Nick. Temperament like the sea. Storming one moment and then calm again in the next. He just sounded tired now. Like he wasn't at all up for this fight.

And Sam for one was happy to let it go. "I wasn't trying to… to anything. She just sort of talked me into it all. I met her and then the next thing I know I'm buying her hot cocoa and she's telling me what time I should be there next week."

"It's not about June." He informed the ceiling in a soft, defeated kind of tone. "At least if she's running off with you I know she's safe, but… fuck, Sam. You can't keep doing this to me. First the phone, then the gallery, and now you're standing in my god damned kitchen telling me that you have a standing breakfast date with my daughter, and all I can seem to think about is..." he trailed off, the adam's apple in his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard, cutting himself off, letting whatever that idea was die a soft, unfulfilled death.

They'd only been together, as friend or otherwise for a few months, and Sam didn't even come close to considering himself an expert on how to read this man. Nick wasn't an open kind of guy. He didn't even really embrace happy the same way that 'normal' people do. It was all reserved smiles and guarded chuckles. You could see the feelings passing through his eyes, and in the slump or the tightness of his shoulders if you knew how to look. But it was only on really good days, in special sharp kinds of moments that he suddenly would open up. Sometimes positive, sometimes negative, and sometimes there was this.

Out of all of Nick's carefully cultivated and protected feelings, Sam hated this one the most.

Lucky for them both it didn't last longer than a few seconds before rather visibly, Nick put himself back together though. Rubbing at his face, clearing his throat. Patching up the cracks and shaking himself off, because Sam had lost the right to stand witness to such things, and that hurt in a way that the younger man hadn't expected it to.

Nick limped carefully across the kitchen to sink down into one of the chairs tucked beneath the table, his bare feet weirdly obvious where they peeked out from the edge of his dark washed jeans. Long toes hugging the linoleum.

Each step had been slow and cautious, like Nick feared to put too much weight down on his right leg, and Sam felt a pang of sympathy.

"How bad is it?"

Rubbing a hand over his mouth, half muffling the first few words, Nick hesitated to answer. "Cast has only been off two days. The doctor thinks I need a cane or something, but the fuck does he know?"

"You weren't this bad at the gallery the other night."

"The cast was stronger than my leg apparently. It was easy enough to just balance on." He slumped in his chair, a shadow of pain passing over his face for a moment. "I was also coming down off a ass ton of painkillers at the time and everything just kind of hurt on the same level."

"And… no painkillers now?"

"Don't know if you've noticed, but I've got a bit of an addiction problem. I'm switched over to aspirin at this point and it doesn't do jack shit for me, but it feels safer than the strong stuff the doc sent me home with." For the first time in what felt like forever, he was talking to Sam like he used to. Not spite lurking beneath his words. Just open and easy like he used to be. "Cassy was going to go refill my perscription for me a week ago and I realized that I was just trading alcohol for pills and that's not a place I ever wanted to see myself. You know?"

Nodding carefully, Sam leaned back against the counter. He would rather have pulled up a chair and sat beside Nick, but there hadn't been any kind of invitation so he kept the distance that they'd found as it seemed to be one of the leading causes of their current moratorium.

"So I'm a bit more of a salty bastard than normal at this point, but my head's clear and I'm able to focus on work, and in theory my leg will get better if I'm nice to it."

"I'm sorry."

" 's not your fault." He folded his arms on the table and Sam could see the breaks in the patterns of the once lovely tattoos. The scars were not as pink as last time he'd really looked at them, but still fresh and hard to ignore. "Unfortunately, this wasn't the first attempt at driving while incredibly drunk and almost getting myself killed in the process. Kind of my own damn fault. You know?"

"I… I worry about you."

Nick snorted a small laugh and his shoulders shook, just like his head at the unacceptable thing that Sam had just told him.

"And I'm sorry."

"You already said that."

"Not about the accident. I mean about what I said-"

"I'm still refusing to have that conversation with you." Both Nick's hands came up, palms out like he could hold Sam's words back, cutting him off. Just as difficult and stubborn as always, and it was almost reassuring that that hadn't changed either.

"Nick,"

"Trust me. You aren't going to come out of that one in one piece. Just let it alone."

"You've always got these weird sideways kinds of threats, Nick, but they don't work on me. because I know you don't mean them."

The man sitting over there at the table was nothing more than a sheep in wolf's clothing. Luckily Sam was smart enough to realize that he'd only dig himself a shallow grave if he suggested such a thing out loud. And again, he felt like he was one of the least qualified people to try and translate the nonverbal cues of this man and his rough, but well contained, emotions. Even still, he couldn't help but read into the way that Nick was watching him were he was using the counter as an anchor on the far, safe side of the room.

"I could mean them."

"But you don't."

"I think we've actually had a few fights, and I do remember winning them."

"We wrested on your couch, and you're ticklish, and I won. Wouldn't exactly call that 'winning', old man."

And unless Sam was very mistaken, that was a hint of a smile catching at the edges of Nick's mouth.

"And I wouldn't exactly call it 'wrestling' or 'tickling' but," he shrugged lightly, " that's just semantics I guess."

"Oh my god, Nick." Sam laughed and the sound was startling to his own ears. "That's not what I meant."

"Are you two in love again?" June peeked her round little face in from the hallway. "I heard laughing. You can't laugh if you're mad at eachother."

Sam looked away, out the window to a small with overgrown grass that looked like it needed a bit of attention, as he tried to get the funny light feeling fluttering in his chest back under control.

"June-bug," Nick called his daughter over with a sigh. "Come here."

"He smells nice and he's going to learn to make pancakes so we can all eat together in the mornings." She informed her dad as she came to stand beside him, her little dog dancing in complicated patterns around her feet.

"Who told you about Sam in the first place, because I know I didn't."

"Uncle Gabriel." She ratted the man out so easily. No loyalty at all, and that was kind of nice. "Back when I was living with Mom I'd asked him if you were dating anyone, and he told me you had a beautiful boyfriend. And then I got here and he was just gone, and Gabriel said that you two had to break up because the Judge hates you. Then I asked Uncle Cassy, and he said that Mr Sam was gone because you two had a big fight- but he didn't know what it was about."

Sam knew the answer to that one all too well. He could probably have written a term paper on it. Five thousand words about how he couldn't be trusted to be responsible with other people's insecurities.

But Nick didn't say that. He could have. He could have simply stated that Sam just got mean when people brought up his own dad and that he'd taken a quick, thoughtless jab at the biggest fault in Nick- but he didn't.

Instead, he tucked some of his daughter's mane of hair behind one of her ears and said simply, "we didn't have a fight. Your mom had just been real mean to me for a few weeks, and I was having a bunch of bad days, and I realized that I was going to have a lot more bad days for a long time, and that Sam would be better off with someone who could be as nice to him as he deserves."

"But Uncle Cassy said that Mr Sam and you made each other really happy." June looked to Sam for backup, but he was trying too hard to figure out what it was that Nick had said to give any kind of legible answer.

"We did." The man assured her softly. "And maybe we might try to be friends still, but we're not in love, and he's not staying for breakfast." These things were all stated so surely. A nice neat little list of facts that were as unshakable as the mountains in the East.

It wasn't great, but Sam was too afraid to ask for anything more. They'd made good friends, he couldn't argue with that one. And if Nick was offering, than Sam was gladly taking.

Only he didn't feel good about it. He felt like he'd been kicked. Maybe it was because of the honest open way that Nick talked to his daughter. So straight forward, nothing kept from her. It meant that when he said that they weren't in love, that they really weren't.

At least not anymore.

Sam just kind of hoped that his own discordant feelings on the matter would eventually fade from disuse and lack of nurturing. And that probably wasn't how these things worked, but being in love with someone who obviously didn't love you back wasn't going to take him far or to any place good, so from where he stood the original plan that he'd come up with for himself a few months ago was still the best plan.

Because Dean had been right, and Nick had gotten over Sam. It didn't leave the younger man with many more options other than to try and do the same.

"Will you, Mr Sam?" June asked in a volume not usually used indoors.

It snapped Sam back to himself, enough to realize that he'd sort of checked out for a few moments, during which the conversation had continued on without him.

"Will I what?"

June sighed and looked to her Papa. "Is he always like this?"

Nick's eyes were soft, a warm kind of blue for the first time in forever as he looked from his offspring over to Sam in an almost apologetic way. "Sam's got things on his mind. He likes to think a lot. Don't you?"

"Too much sometimes." He ran a hand through his hair, finding it a bit too difficult to match Nick's gaze in that moment.

"Will you come with us to the beach when I'm done with school?" June restated her question with some force behind it. "I mean, you finished school too, so you kind of have to come. It's tradition."

Sam looked from her to her dad, at their uncannily similar expressions and realized that even if he wanted to try and say no that it probably wouldn't stick.