This one falls somewhere in chapter 8. And yeah, I've got a bit of a backlog of chapters, so be prepared for quite a few of these to suddenly be spamming you.

sorry

Nick was almost positive that he wasn't allowed to miss something that was never his to begin with. But he had always been keen on civil disobedience whenever possible.

He let the car idle in the driveway, quite rumble he could feel up through his feet. The flickering streetlight was the only beacon in the blue black of the night, no porch light left on for them, the moon had set and the sun was still a few hours off. In the hesitant yellow glow of the gages on the dash he could make out some of the soft lines of Sam's sleep still face.

It's not like Nick could just not wake the man. They would eventually run out of gas, or the sun would rise, or Sam would simply wake on his own- and everything would be ruined. At this point all Nick was doing was postponing the inevitable.

But the longer they sat here the longer he could wait to say goodbye.

Good lord.

At what point had he become so…

So stupid?

So irrational?

It had been nearly a month since Nick had felt like himself and it was still too soon to decide if this was a bad thing or not. It wasn't that he wasn't happy. It was just that all this joking around and scheming and early morning wrestling matches gave him a weirdly hollowed out feeling. He was vulnerable and it was alien to him. Maybe because he knew it couldn't last. It wasn't built to. This was a friendship in the same way that a house of cards is a house. They were built to fall apart and no one expected anything less. It was only a matter of when.

Two more months.

How lucky Nick was to have an actual expiration date.

He put his hands over his face and remembered how to breath.

So stupid.

So irrational.

Though if he was going to run away from home and ignore all responsibility for a handful of days, he couldn't think of any better company than who he had next to him.

"Sam." And he could have spoken much louder, but then it might have woken the man. It was far more productive and enjoyable to just sit and look at the way the heavy shadows fell over his face hiding his deep eyes and the wry slant of his lips. Those damn lips.

Nick was going to get himself in trouble that he couldn't talk himself out of one of these days- and Sam Winchester's lips would certainly be the cause.

His face went back into his hands and he bit the heel of his palm, that soft spot below his pinkie. He'd almost completely fucked up back at the beach. Sam leaning over him in the dark, breathing a little too fast, watching Nick's face like it meant something- though most of that had to be in his mind and miracle of miracles, he had managed to salvage the whole thing, kissing Sam's jaw in place of those waiting lips.

Oh, but he was going to have a hell of a time keeping this up for two more months.

It was hardly his fault.

Back in Frisco, in the parking garage after planning out the sex that they weren't actually having this weekend- which had amounted to a fair number of vague but inappropriate suggestions on Nick's part and a lot of stammering, angry blushing and one after another strong veto from Sam. In the end it was decided that, as it would be both their first times, and apparently Nick was too old and tired, that everything should be kept fairly innocent and uninteresting.

So they finished their crepes and went to the stationary store because Nick needed to get some stickers for his nieces as part of their Christmas presents and then the two of them had had a childish race to the elevator.

Nick had won, by all rights, but Sam had slapped his hand away from the button before he could press it. Thus claiming the ultimate prize for himself, leaving Nick to stand off to the side, sullenly rubbing the sting from the back of his hand. And Sam had gently teased him the whole way back to the car where Nick popped the trunk and set the little pink and white polka dot bag beside his violin case. Sam had tapped the case and once more teased Nick about smuggling drugs out of the bay area under the guise of 'repairing his violin'.

It was well after closing time, the garage practically empty, and Nick had always been a bit of a show off. Michael always chided him that his pride would eventually be his downfall. Unfortunately it seemed that Michael had been right. Because Nick had taken out his violin, hastily tuned it as best as he could by ear, and he had played for Sam.

It was just a quick little tune, and honestly more than he should have played considering that he hadn't actually picked played anything in almost two month. His fingers felt slow and a little stiff, but they knew where to go. It was only a few bars, but when he opened his eyes and saw the slightly stunned expression Sam wore, he knew that he had played well enough for an audience.

Now, Nick playing just a few seconds worth of a song wasn't damning on its own. It was the fact that Sam had got this odd little smile and said "I don't think I've ever heard Thin Lizzy played on a violin before."

That was the part that Nick blamed entirely on the younger man. Sam could have called it a Metallica song (the cover was certainly far more popular and far more appropriate for someone from Sam's generation)- but no. He said Thin Lizzy.

There are very few things that bind people together as strongly or as instantly as a familiar affinity for obscure pop culture. Nick was fairly certain that every friendship he had had between fifth and twelfth grade had been based on nothing more complicated than a shared taste in music or television.

It didn't matter that Sam had been pleasantly impressed by Nick actual ability to play the instrument. It mattered that he knew the name of the band. It mattered that he followed it up by asking if Nick knew any Bowie.

Nick was smitten and the word didn't do justice to encompassing the horrible, corrosive feeling that had been eating away at him since yesterday.

He looked up from his hands, dragging them forcibly down his face, trying to wake up. To open his eyes again and be free of this alarming dream that had overtaken him.

"Sam." He said, though it didn't seem any louder this time. "Hey. Darlin'. Wakey wakey."

Sam stirred, blinking slowly. Yawning loudly without even the barest attempt to cover it. "We're home?"

"I don't know. I fell asleep a little after you did."

That earned a little smile. "Real comforting." He stretched, fingers almost touching the windshield. "You wanna come in?"

"It's late."

"I know."

"I should-"

"Stay the night." Sam finished for him. Not really offering so much as demanding. They shared an uncertain look and color, visible even in the almost true darkness, could be seen crawling up Sam's throat. "I mean… Dean would love to see your car in the morning. And you've already been driving most of tonight."

Nick tugged at his lower lip, looking at the little clock on his dash. Almost one in the morning. Not at all late for his nocturnal sleep schedule. But he didn't need to point that out. He needed to take that offer because he might not get all that many. Not like this. Not from Sam. "How many blankets are you offering me?"

"Two, but they're real heavy ones."

He almost said something. Almost promised to behave and keep his teeth and legs to himself tonight. But he stopped himself. He bit his tongue and took a breath and tried his best to clear his head.

"I really should get home. I think you'll be alright on your own for one night." When he felt brave enough to look back at Sam he realized how much he didn't like that sort of expression directed at him, even in the half light where he could just barely make out the confused, almost hurt line of Sam's mouth. "But if you really miss me you can always give me a call. I'll tell you a bedtime story."

"I'll manage on my own somehow, I'm sure." Sam waved it off, all confidant and unimpressed in the way that he could summon up on an instant's notice.

"Goodnight." He caught the shoulder of Sam's jacket and tugged gently until the younger man got the idea and leaned over. He kissed Sam's cheek and hoped that the younger man didn't notice how he lingered or looked at his mouth as he sat back.

" 'night, Nick." And Sam grabbed his stuff from the back and gave a parting smile before jogging up to the dark porch and letting himself in.

Nick sat in the dark, in his car and wondered at what point he had completely lost his mind. If it had been a month ago in the restaurant, or maybe during Thanksgiving when Sam had said all the right things, or sometime this weekend.

There was a goal in mind here.

And that goal was oddly not to find out what Sam tasted like. It was to get a little freedom from Gabriel.

Freedom. Not flavor.

He just had to remind himself of that.