Dogs were easy. Dogs, Sam got. They liked chew toys, premium beef, and long walks to anywhere. They greeted you when they came home and stuck by your side until you left. Not once had Sam met a dog he couldn't get along with.

But people – well, people were a different matter. Sam didn't like people so much. The best kinds of people were the dead ones – the ones in his history books, whose heroic tales defied anything anyone he knew could ever do. They just didn't make people the same anymore. Not that Sam would really prefer Henry IV's company over a dog's, though.

Every once in a while, however, someone would come along and make him think, hey, let's walk our dogs together.

And after everything that had happened, he really needed that person. For a while, he shut down. It was like having the air let out of his body and all the energy drained. He took a few days off work and let himself grow numb. He didn't need alcohol to help. He just needed to think – poisonous thoughts that plagued him night and day and didn't help anything. His dog Bones scratched at his door, but he ignored him. His best friend phoned, but he didn't answer.

He grieved on his own for what seemed like forever, but then one day, he felt a little better. It was just a little – enough to notice the sun outside and give his dog a pat on the head. So he went for a walk, and he met her - Jessica. She'd been with him at Stanford, but he'd never really gotten to know her then. She had a goofy smile and soft golden hair and almost as much energy as his dog. She liked to joke that the only reason he liked her was because she reminded him of Bones. He played it off, but to be honest, there was probably some truth in it. But that didn't matter, because for a little while, she made him feel like he wasn't so alone.

Even if it was only temporary. (Everything was.)

"You're looking for someone else, Sam. Not me." That was her excuse to, "take a break."

Of course, Sam wasn't angry. He rarely was anymore. Besides, he understood why she was doing it. Neither of them really had time for each other – they only liked to be around someone, not the other specifically. It was a union of necessity rather than emotion, and Sam understood that.

Still, he felt like he was being abandoned again, and all he could do was stand there and nod.

The next day when he got home, there was a six pack on his doorstep and a message on his phone. "He-e-y, Sammy. Heard about Jessica and thought I'd drop by and so you could spend some quality man time with the man." He recognized the voice instantly as Gabriel. He could practically hear the wink. "But you weren't there, so I just left you a little present to help you express your feelings. Call me, if ya want. Or if ya don't. Either way, you're gonna call me. Later Sasquatch."

Sighing, he reached to delete the message.

"Oh! Forgot to mention, some big city client is flying in today at the airport. Twelve o'clock flight from Memphis. Boss wants you to milk 'im for all he's worth, so naturally, he said you'd pick him up. I'd do it, but I don't actually have a car. So if that's all good, I'm going to hang up. Bye now, Sammy."

He shut his eyes and listened to the tone for a while. Finally, he deleted the message. He put the beer in the fridge, checked his watch, and grabbed the keys to the Impala, telling himself he probably needed the distraction anyway (as if he had a choice).

As he drove down the turnpike, he turned on the radio and tuned into a soft rock station. For some reason, soft rock helped him relax. It always had, ever since he was a kid. It was one of those things that his dad should have noticed, but never did. Like how smart Sam was. Or how good at soccer he was. Or how much he wanted him to notice.

But that didn't matter now. John was gone. Sam had experienced more losses in the past month than he had in his entire life, some of which hurt more than others. He'd gotten a solid two weeks off after his father's death, which was generous on Dick's part, and he couldn't really ask for more – even if he really, really needed it. The last thing he wanted to be doing right now was seeing people. Talking to people. He stubbornly refused to let himself feel like he was being forced to do his job, even though he could feel unmerited anger bubbling in his stomach.

He tried to concentrate on the soft rock. It started to make him sleepy, so he turned it to something else, something more modern, with a bass beat to keep him awake. He settled on an upbeat folk rock station, and let it wash into his head, clearing out everything else. He let his fingers drum on the steering wheel and his head bob left to right. He let everything slip away for just a moment, and then something horrible happened.

He ran out of gas.

He should have expected it. He was in the middle of nowhere, on a stretch of highway with nothing but trees in sight. It just figured. But he hadn't prepared, and now he was stuck here with no gas and a ticking clock. It was 10:01, but Sam knew how long it took for things like these to sort themselves out.

Sam pulled over and turned the radio off, closing his eyes and sighing heavily. Okay. It's okay. I'll just call Gabriel, he told himself calmly. Gabriel could get a company car if he had to. Opening his eyes, he grabbed his cell phone and checked for a signal, then bit the inside of his lip when he saw that he had exactly zero bars.

In spite of this, he typed out a quick text to Gabriel, telling him to tell the boss he ran out of gas and might not make it, and if he could, call him. If the phone wanted to send it, it would send it, and Sam would check it in a few minutes just in case. He was still at 95% battery, so he figured he had time. In the meantime, he had to do something other than sitting on the side of the road waiting for a miracle. So he grabbed his keys and stepped out of the car. He needed his text to send, and for that, he needed to be somewhere where there was a signal.

Resigned, he locked the car, patted his pocket to make sure he still had his phone, and set off down the dusty road.

Yeah no they still haven't met. Dean's still driving down from Chicago. He can't fly, see.

Also sorry about Jessica. I know girlfriends are put-offs in slash stories, but idk she's plot relevant and I like her just roll with it.

EDIT: Yes, the second one is about Dean. I changed the chapter title to make it a little clearer. I made a terrible life choice but now I have to stick with it sorry.