For my sister. Early birthday present.

Only goes to show

Mike Harris was having a bad day. First the car had broken down, whereupon he'd been late for work, then his brother had called to tell him their Dad had broken an ankle falling off a stepladder, and now that Deacon and the guys had finally dragged him out for a beer or two, the blonde at the bar was steadfastly refusing to flirt with him.

"I'm with someone, sorry," she said, not looking it in the least.

Mike was too drunk to care. "Here with someone, or just generally with someone?"

"Both," she said. Name was… Mary! That was it. It suggested a nice, sweet girl, but the look she was giving him was none of those things. "Listen, I think you've had enough of those."

He raised his brand-new shot of whiskey up to eye-level, peered thoughtfully into the golden-brown depths.

"Nope," he said. "Let me buy you one."

She choked back laughter. "Mikey, I could almost admire your persistence."

"So you will have a drink with me?"

"No, she won't," a new voice said from behind him. Mary's someone. Tall, dark-haired, folding a sheaf of notes into his leather jacket. "And I don't – holy crap. Harris?"

Mike blinked owlishly. "Bugger me. That you, Win?"

It was. John Winchester, decidedly solid, unshakeable as ever and definitely not MIA.

Anymore.

"Rumours about you, m'boy," Mike told him. "All sorts'a rumours. Lots of 'em. Deacon's been keeping mum. He's right over there someplace…"

"Oh, no," John muttered.

"Army buddies of yours?" Mary surmised.

"You've met!" Mike exclaimed happily.

"You've just spent the last twenty minutes hitting on my girl," John told him, amused.

Mike winced. "Did I? Oops." That sort of thing went very much against the code of brotherhood the five of them were supposed to live by. "Sorry, John."

"Sorry, John!" Mary exclaimed incredulously. "Men! He's not the one who's had to sit here fending off your cheesy pick-up lines, you little idiot."

"How many times do I have to remind you you're a possession, not a person?" John asked her.

In his intoxicated state, Mike completely missed the teasing in his friend's voice.

"Damn straight!" he announced, waving the empty shot glass around expansively.

In his intoxicated state, Mary's slap knocked Mike off the bar stool.

"He's probably cracked his skull on the floor," Jake said as they all gathered round Mike's half-conscious form in the parking lot.

"The guilt's overwhelming," Mary said drily.

"Should be," John told her. "Bit remorse would look good in court if you end up paying damages."

"With your money," Mary said calmly. "What took you so long, anyway?"

"Dennis Hopper wanted a rematch," John said, referring to the biker he'd just hustled out of this month's paycheck at pool. "Luckily for Mike's damages claim."

"He'll be too embarrassed to stand up in court and admit a blonde in a bar did this to him," Mary shrugged.

"I can't believe it, let alone a court," Frank muttered, eyeing her.

"We'll see. Mike gets a little crazy sometimes," John said.

"I've just spent all evening noticing," Mary retorted.

Deacon, Jake, and Frank were exchanging rather puzzled looks. Who the hell was this girl?

Finally, Frank dragged his eyes away from Mary's curves and cleared his throat pointedly. "Introductions, Win?" he said.

"Hmm? Oh, right. Mary, that's Frank, Jake and Deacon… guys, Mary Roberts."

"Your…" Jake prodded. Mary's eyes flashed. "His nothing," she said with sharp emphasis on the pronoun.

John grimaced slightly. Spending an evening in a bar getting hit on by seedy guys tended to make her irritable.

Tell the truth, it did the same to him.

"Ah," Frank deadpanned. "So, uh… what the fuck are you doing here?"

"Nice and blunt, straight in for the kill," Jake tossed in sarcastically. John tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans in a gesture Mary knew meant he was being stubborn about something, and just looked at them.

"Oh, come on," Jake said. "You resign your commission, take off without a word in the middle of a road trip, spend the next… what, six, seven months?... completely AWOL only to turn up again in a biker bar whole states away from where we last heard from you in the company of a pretty blonde. What are we supposed to think?"

"First your Dad, now this lot," Mary said. "Why do they all assume you've got me pregnant?"

"It's the only accepted reason for disappearing like that," John shrugged. "Bill and Max both did it."

"Assholes."

"Yeah, they were, kinda. Plus you weren't drinking."

"But it is getting to the point where I could really use a cigarette."

"You smoke?" Frank cut in, staring. In his experience, nice girls did not smoke.

"Quit right after high school actually, while I was at my cousin's," Mary said calmly.

When did she start?

John was getting less amused and more irritated by the second. They'd had a perfect, peaceful day doing nothing for a change, just taking the time to enjoy being together, and now his friends had to show up and ruin it. Mike hitting on Mary was one thing… but if Frank didn't stop checking her out pretty soon, John was going to punch him.

"I'm not about to give you a detailed history of the last seven months, if that's what you're after," he said. Mary curled her fingers round his wrist, applied gentle pressure. It was the only reason he wasn't yelling yet.

"We're your friends," Jake argued.

"Katie's my sister, I haven't spoken to her either," John told him.

"That's different!"

"How, exactly?"

Jake floundered. Frank rolled his eyes. Deacon, who knew John better than any of them, laughed.

"Tell you what," he said. "Why don't you guys start a fight while Mary and I go drum up some coffee?"

"This one, I like," Mary said. "The others, you can't keep."

John grinned. "Oh, come on. They don't eat much."

"They don't think much, either."

"Touché. You need cash?"

"No. Deacon's buying."

Their benefactor sputtered. John burst out laughing.

"So how long have you known John?" Deacon asked Mary as they crossed the road to the diner opposite the bar.

"Seven months. You?"

"Seven years. Or so. We went to high school together, him, me… and Alex."

"John told me about him. I'm sorry."

Amazingly, she was.

"Thank you. Erm… did he… did he say…" Deacon hesitated. He'd never told anyone about John's drunken confession to him that he'd been too late to save Alex because he'd been throwing a guy into a river without even touching him.

"Yes," Mary said calmly.

"Thought so. I couldn't think of anything else that would rattle him so badly he'd take off the way he did."

"It wasn't entirely intentional," Mary said wryly. "I'm surprised you believed him, actually."

Deacon shrugged. "My grandmother had… a sort of sixth sense about stuff. She saw things before they happened, sometimes, knew when something was wrong with my brother and me. Let's just say I don't disbelieve him."

"Works for me. Six black coffees, please."

Deacon waited till the girl had left again before asking, "Has he… has he been OK?"

Mary looked at him, straight on, hazel-green eyes appraising. Deacon felt a bit awkward under that intense unwavering gaze, but whatever she saw in him, she seemed to like it.

"No, he hasn't. Neither have I. But we're getting over it."

Deacon smiled. "So you are his… something?"

She laughed. "Yes. Yes, I guess I am. It's a new one for me, but yes."

"Good awkwardness, though," was all Deacon said.

When Mary Roberts smiled, he found he was in danger of falling out of love with his fiancé for good.

"Yes," she said softly. "A very good awkwardness."

And just like that, he was back on solid ground. Smiles like that lost their appeal when you knew they were for another man.

John was so screwed.

"So why are you guys in town?" he asked as they collected the coffees and left the diner. Mary shrugged.

"We're just passing through. On our to… well, nowhere, really."

"You're saying he ditched me just to go road tripping with you?" Deacon demanded.

"Can you blame me?" John said as they re-entered the parking lot. "Besides, she's got a kick-ass car."

"I always knew it wasn't me you wanted," Mary sighed.

"I can't have both?"

"That's just greedy."

"Your point being?"

"What model is it?" Deacon cut in hastily before they completely forgot about him.

"67 Chevy Impala," Mary smirked.

Deacon gaped at her. "No… way," he breathed reverently.

"Mike's woken up," Frank said, joining them. "Jake's gone for a bucket of water. What's Dec drooling over?"

"My car," Mary said smugly.

"Huh," Frank said. "Never had you down for a Mini Cooper person, Dec." He wasn't entirely sure why he said it – the beer he'd drunk, perhaps, or the fact that one of his closest friends had just appeared out of nowhere after months of silence and was acting like a complete stranger because of some girl – but as soon as the words left his mouth he regretted it. John didn't even say anything. The look on his face was enough.

"Tell you what," Deacon cut in hastily. "Why don't we all go our separate ways to sober up, and then meet back here tomorrow for a drink?"

Frank nodded slowly, still watching his old friend. When John stayed silent, he said, "Sure. Sounds good. I'll get Jake, let him know." He slipped away with a brief nod to John and Mary.

John rubbed a hand over his mouth. "We're not going to be here tomorrow," he said. Deacon smiled faintly.

"Didn't think so."

"Manning, Colorado," John said. "Ask for Daniel Elkins' place. If we're not there, he can reach us."

"I'll expect explanations when I come," Deacon warned.

"More than you can handle," John promised as they embraced.

"See you, Deacon," Mary smiled at him again. He hugged her. "Good luck with Win," he said. "Don't think you'll need it, though."

She laughed.

John couldn't hide his relief when the motel room door finally clicked shut between them and the world. The last months he'd spent with Mary felt like an eternity, a huge chasm that separated him from the boy who had been friends with those loud, cheerful, careless guys slowly rebuilding their lives after the war that had brought them all together.

Sometimes he found it hard to believe that boy had ever existed.

Mary was leaning against the partition between bedroom and kitchen, watching him silently. She wore the same look she had when they'd met in Cold Oak: a mix of pity and sorrow and regret. I'm sorry you can't go back to that, that look said.

The faintest glint of fear in her eyes that he would try just the same. She would never admit to it, never acknowledge it, but it was there. Always. Only when they made love was it forgotten, driven away by all-consuming kisses, the brush of hands over warm soft skin, their bodies intertwined in the ecstatic perfection of them.

Much in the same way that his nightmares would never entirely go away, or his desperate need to be in control of what was happening around him. He'd left Vietnam determined never to be that helpless again.

To say the two of them were damaged was an understatement, he sometimes thought. But they'd get through it.

"I'm sorry he insulted the car," he said.

She smiled. "Make it up to me?"

John crossed the room in two quick strides, and Mary sank into his embrace with a soft whispered sigh.