A/N: Thanks for the great response to the first chapter! Here's no 2 'cause y'all have been so nice :)

Because two's a crowd when rock stars buy you supper…

"Good day at school, Sammy?"

Sam sighed, throwing down his bag as he came in the door of their motel room. He shot his brother a glare.

"How many times do I have to tell you? Don't call me Sammy."

"I never agreed to this. Show me a lawyer and I'll call it so."

Sam flopped down on one of the beds, letting out a huff of air as he did so. "Where's Dad?"

Dean sat on the other bed, facing his brother. "He's off interviewing someone. And now I'm not allowed to go anywhere because I have to make you supper."

"Don't worry about it. I'm sixteen; I think I can make my own cold cereal and milk."

Dean snickered and shook his head. "God, we're pathetic. Come on," he said, standing and grabbing his coat from the back of a chair. "Let's go out and get something to eat."

Sam smiled and followed suit. "Great…but how are you going to pay for it?"

Dean gave a wide grin and pulled a thin square of plastic from his pocket. He waved it around. "Guess what Dad finally got me? My own credit card! Well…" he paused, peering at the name embossed on the card. "James Page's own credit card."

"Awesome," Sam replied, laughing at his brother's enthusiasm towards the magical money card.

Stepping outside the motel, Dean immediately made a beeline for his beloved Impala. Sam got in the passenger seat, as per usual, as his Dad hadn't taught him how to drive yet and they never stayed in a town long enough for Sam to take a driver's ed class.

The Impala purred into life, and Dean had that impossibly happy look on his face that he had whenever he drove her. Ever since John had passed it down to him two years ago, he'd refused to go anywhere without it, even just down the road to a burger joint, like now.

"I'm gonna have to teach you how to drive someday, Sammy," he said, putting the car into reverse and pulling out of the parking spot.

"You'd let me drive the Impala?"

Dean had to really think about it, before saying, "Sure…I mean, you're flesh and blood. There has to be something in that metrosexual brain of yours that has an appreciation for a good old American car like my baby."

"I know that means a lot, coming from you."

"Thanks, Sam. You're my baby brother; it's my job to be protective. Of my car." Dean reached out a hand to try and ruffle Sam's persistently shaggy hair – he'd have to do something about that one day – but Sam dodged before he could. Dean let it go, not wanting to get in an accident, but spent the rest of the short journey plotting how he could get Sam's hair under control. Unfortunately for Sam, the idea of Nair plus shampoo bottle simply refused to leave Dean's mind.

When they reached the restaurant, those chose a booth that was a little out of the way, as was their custom – that way they could talk about things with out attracting too much attention. Sam looked the other way while Dean shamelessly flirted with the attractive waitress.

He ordered a Caesar salad when it was his turn to talk, and Dean got a bacon cheeseburger – extra ketchup. Sam would spend his life marvelling at how his brother could eat as much as he did and still not be obese.

As the waitress walked away, Dean hissed, "Man, we need to stop going out to restaurants together. People will think we're like…a couple or something."

"Yeah…God forbid you don't hook up when we go out to supper."

"Dude…it would really be a sin against heaven not to go for that." Sam watched his brothers eyes as they flitted appreciatively over the waitress.

Sam simply shook his head and swiftly changed the direction of the conversation. "So…I had a fun day at school. Got an A on my history test."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Atta boy, Sam. Way to make your big brother proud," he said sarcastically, taking a long gulp of his glass of water. Dean was counting down the days until January 24th 2000...the day he could finally legally have alcohol.

"I seem to recall you failed history when you were a junior."

"Sam…I think I failed everything except gym." He paused, thinking. "And lunch."

Sam laughed, smiling still as the waitress set down their meals. She made 'flirty-eyes' at Dean, leaning over a little too much, and showing a little too much cleavage. Not that that wasn't the perfect amount for Dean. Sam just knew that she was going to be one of those waitresses who came by every five minutes to 'see how they were doing,' and that he would just have to watch in awe as his big brother, even against all odds, picked up another potential lay.

"So…" Dean began from behind a mouthful of cheeseburger. "Make any new friends?"

"Actually, yes," Sam said a little smugly, picking up his fork and tucking into the strips of grilled chicken on top of his salad. He smiled at his brother.

Dean smiled knowingly back, nodding slowly. "Oh, yeah?" He chuckled. "What's her name?"

Sam almost choked on his salad.

"What? No…he's a guy."

Dean shrugged, licking his lips. "Well…each to his own."

"What? No! He's not…he's a guy. We're just friends."

"Okay…" he said, taking another gargantuan bite of his burger. "So did you get his number?"

"Shut up!" he said, reaching over the table to give his brother a well-deserved smack to the head. Dean caught his hand before he could, though, and twisted it. He caught sight of the writing on it from earlier and looked up at Sam, wagging his eyebrows.

"Hey…you got an address! Not to be presumptuous, Sam, but I think you're in."

"Fuck you."

"Gabriel, huh? What is he, Catholic?"

"I don't know, Dean! Look, I just met the guy this afternoon. We talked about school for about three minutes and he invited me over to his house to tutor him."

"Sam, I mean this most sincerely…I hope you score."

Sam decided not to prod the beast further, so just shook his head and settled into finishing off his salad. When the bowl was clean, and Dean had polished off his double-bacon-heart-attack with a contented groan, he thought it safe to speak up again.

"Seriously, though, Dean…he had all these creepy drawings in his locker."

Dean was suddenly serious. "What are you saying?" he asked as he set down his napkin.

"Well…I think the kid might be psychic."

"What were the drawings of?"

Sam coughed into the back of his hand. "That's the thing," he said. "I have no idea. There was one with all these people with creepy black eyes."

Dean raised an eyebrow, baffled.

"And then there was one of a guy with these gigantic wings."

"Like the guy from X-Men?"

"Yeah, exactly! But…they were black."

Dean nodded. "Well…I'm stumped." Sam was impressed that his brother would admit such a thing.

"Yeah…me too. It didn't look like anything I've ever seen…I mean, he was just…a normal man. He was wearing normal-people clothes and stuff."

Dean nodded again, biting the edge of his thumbnail like he did when he was a little anxious. "Tell you what," he finally said, leaning forward. "Go to this guy's house tomorrow, and see if you can bring us back one of his drawings for us to look at. I'll ask Dad if he's seen anything like that before."

Sam nodded, looking down a little sadly at his drink.

"Speaking of Dad, if he comes back and we're not there, he'll freak. Come on, let's go."

They both stood, and Sam made his way out to the Impala while Dean paid with his new money square and undoubtedly picked up the waitress' number.