It only took a flick of Bryce's wrist to send the photo to the ground where the black plastic frame broke, but the transparent plastic stayed in tact. In the snapshot, they were at a restaurant. Dean's arm was slung around Cassie's shoulder, a huge smile plastered on his face as she kissed his cheek. It was really a great shot. Sam had taken it that first night and given it to her framed.
"You did that on purpose."
"There are other hot fish in the sea, Cass," Bryce said.
"What is wrong with the men around here? Clean that up."
He obeyed, picking up the pieces and dumping everything, including the photo, in the kitchen trash. "I didn't want to say it."
"Then don't. Go home." She used her pointer finger to skim through the magazine. "Thanks for this. I'll bring it back tomorrow."
"I don't trust that guy, Cassie."
"Then don't date him, Bryce."
"The brother doesn't seem too bad. Why don't you go for him?"
She cringed like he had said something truly disgusting. "Because brothers aren't interchangeable."
"He's…"
"We've been through this." Cassie circled a picture in her mag with a thick, black marker.
"You love him and that just makes everything okay?"
She groaned and rolled her eyes. "Why do I tell you anything?"
"Because you know it's not right. He helped you, so he gets to hit you?"
"He didn't hit me," she corrected, although she knew it was a matter of semantics.
"You said yourself, he clearly wanted to."
Cassie closed the magazine. It was impossible to concentrate like this, not that she'd had much luck when Bryce wasn't there. "That's… I thought… I don't know what happened."
"He went psycho. Broke your record player. And your lamp."
"I broke the lamp." That was technically true.
"When he came after you? And he's been acting like a total freak ever since?"
"It was yesterday." And she hadn't seen him since.
"Volatile, violent, unpredictable. Dangerous." The gun made a low, heavy clunk when he sat it on the table.
Cassie didn't even see where it came from, but gawked between the handgun and where Bryce stood with his arms folded across his chest.
"Take that out of here."
"You know how to use it. Your dad kept guns, didn't he? To protect the house. He would want you to be safe."
She started to walk away, shaking her head, incredulous at the suggestion.
He stepped in front of her. "Cassie. Dean Winchester is a maniac. At best. You know I'm right. I don't know what he's into, but I can tell it's not … savory. I mean, what are he and his brother always doing in the trunk of that ridiculous car? I know you don't want to admit to yourself that he's trouble, but I would never forgive myself if something happened to you. Just take it. Put it somewhere."
"He would never hurt me." Even as Cassie spoke the words, she felt her own doubt.
"It would make me feel a lot better."
Finally, she cursed under her breath and snatched it from the table. She emptied the bullets into her left palm and dropped them into a potted plant. From where she stood, she searched for a good place to hide the gun. In the end, she put it on the top of her book shelf behind a photograph of her parents. "Happy?"
"I'd be even happier if it were loaded."
Dean had wanted very much not to see her, so when he saw her, he tried to pretend that he hadn't. Cassie sat on the sofa with her feet on the coffee table, furiously typing, when he struggled to enter the apartment with a new record player in his arms. She watched him set it up where the other one had been and plug it in. "You didn't have to do that."
"Yeah, I did." Dean stood there for a long while, just looking at her.
He wanted to go over and sit down. To apologize and explain. Explain what, though? That he was either completely fucking out of his mind or that their relationship was cursed, like he'd known it was back then? He knew that she would believe him now, after the things she'd seen. But then what? He had no idea what was going on and no idea how to stop it, yet. When he knew, he'd fix it and everything would be good again.
"Are you going to keep running away from me, Dean?"
He scoffed, shook his head, giving her a look like she was crazy for thinking that and promptly fled the apartment.
Sam stumbled from the guest room, dragging a hand through his messy hair before massaging his lower back. He wasn't going to complain about the futon, but it really wasn't long enough or comfortable enough to qualify as a bed. He'd been laying on the floor staring at the ceiling for the two nights since they'd been in Cassie's apartment. Getting up to stretch his muscles, he found their hostess on the sofa in the dark living room. The only light was from the computer screen in her lap that cast an eerie glow on her solemn face.
She heard him but didn't look up from what she was doing.
"You're up early."
"Late." Her fingers flew over the keyboard, clicking away as she continued her rapid-fire typing.
"You are going to sleep, right?"
"Theoretically possible, when I get this done. My own fault for putting it off." She treated herself to a sip from the steaming cup of tea on the coffee table. Without looking up, she added, "Have you heard from your brother?"
"He's not here?"
Cassie pursed her lips, sorry she'd asked.
"He's probably…" Sam stopped short. He had no idea where Dean could be at this hour. He'd been acting so weird lately, Sam didn't even know what to speculate. Grasping for a change in subject, he gestured at the laptop. "What are you working on?"
She gave an exaggerated shiver, "I'm sorry, Sam. I can't stand people reading over my shoulders. Come sit down or something."
"Do you mind?" He took a seat next to her on the sofa and leaned over slightly to take a peek at the screen. Sam read aloud, "Condi Rice's Make-Up Faux Pas."
"Not exactly intellectually stimulating, but it pays the bills. You would be amazed how many people actually give a shit about this kind of thing."
Sam shrugged, "Who am I to judge? You've seen what I do for a living. Besides, your piece on Jimmy Soames was… inspiring."
Cassie stopped what she was doing and looked at him for the first time since he joined her, "You read it?"
"Made me wish I'd known the man. Hey, you got a little…" His hand moved toward her face, but stopped short of actually making contact.
Cassie touched one of her own fingers to the crumb on her cheek. She smiled, a little embarrassed. "Oh. Thanks. There are danish in the fridge, if you want."
After a moment, when Sam hadn't moved, she glanced up at him. "Do you need anything, Sam?"
"I'm bothering you? I can go back…" He jerked his thumb toward the room and started to stand.
"It's okay. I could use a break." She rubbed her eyes for a moment and closed the notebook. Suddenly, they were sitting in the dark. They both laughed awkwardly as she opened the computer again to return the faint light. "I don't know how you guys do what you do and remain sane."
"For one thing, I would never say we were sane."
Cassie snickered. Their eyes met for a moment. It was too warm, too intimate. Instantly diffusing the heat in her chest, Cassie put on her most matronly smile. "You need tea."
She sat the computer between them on the couch and stood.
"No, I'm all right. I didn't mean to bother you."
She called over her shoulder. "It's no bother and I won't take no for an answer. It's amazing stuff. Sit back down. I'll bring it to you."
The first thing she did was flick on an overhead light.
Obediently, Sam settled at the small, round dining table where the fish tank had been. Curious, he stroked the leaves of one of the succulent plants that were arranged neatly in small white pots. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure." She tapped the button on the electronic kettle and it started a low hum.
"What's with all the tea?"
Cassie bowed her head and chuckled.
Sam laughed, too, relieved that she wasn't offended. "Don't get me wrong. It's nice. I just haven't drunken as much tea in my life as in the last two weeks since we've met. Did you study a semester in England or something?"
"No. Nothing like that. It's just this organic, imported stuff I started drinking in college. I basically couldn't live without it." She pulled down a mug from an upper cabinet and showed it to him.
Sam read out loud, "World's Greatest Kid. From your dad?"
Cassie nodded and bit on her lower lip for a moment. The psychologist bill was going to be enormous when she finally processed everything she'd been through. Once again, she shoved down the emotion.
She scooped a spoonful of the dark green powder from a steel canister into Sam's mug and delivered it, on a saucer, directly to his hands. "Voila."
"Mercí." Sam smiled and looked down at his drink. He was concerned that he might be flirting and definitely didn't mean to be.
"If you don't like it, you don't have to…"
"No, I do. I…" He admired the mug and turned it to find a name written on the back. "Cassiopeia? Really? Like the constellation?"
Cassie laughed and nodded. "There are not very many people who know that. My dad was quite the amateur astronomer. If I'd have had a brother, they would have named him Orion."
Sam smiled, "So, does that mean if we go outside right now you could impress me with your knowledge of the night sky?"
"If we went outside right now, we'd be lucky if we could see the moon. It's better at my parents place. I'll wow you next time we're out there."
"I'm already wowed." Okay, Sam knew that he was definitely flirting. 'Don't be a dick, Sam,' he thought to himself and had a whiff of the steam blowing off the cup. The smell of it was slightly pungent, but it did relax him. It took his mind off the curve of Cassie's fingers around her own mug.
"Now, you know. Let me guess … you're actually Samson."
Sam shook his head. "Nope. It's Samuel. After my grandfather."
"Or Sammy."
He winced. "I really don't like to be called that."
She laughed again and hung her head. "I noticed."
"Yeah, and Dean says it constantly."
They both laughed. Cassie swallowed a warm swig before suggesting, "If you ever want to get him back, call him Dino."
"Dino?" Sam grimaced.
"Yeah. He hates it." She snickered to herself, remembering the priceless look on his face when Sal, the guy who owned the pool hall off campus, had called Dean that.
"Noted." Sam would definitely make use of that one.
Cassie headed back to her laptop on the sofa. "You're welcome."
Sam spun on his chair to watch her. Maybe the tea had loosened him up, but he didn't seem to be able to stop talking. "Hey, Cassie. If you don't mind, I'm just kind of curious about something."
"You're curious about a lot of things, apparently."
He chuckled. "Yeah. I guess so. I'm just wondering, how much do you know about our family?"
"How do I answer that question? Whatever Dean told me, I know."
Sam nodded. "That's what I mean. I can't imagine what he must have told you. It's like pulling teeth, getting him to talk at all. At least to me."
Cassie tried to think of everything Dean had told her then and now. "Well, about you… I know you were in college when we met. Stanford, right? He was really proud of you. Still is. The way he talks about you."
Sam raised an eyebrow, "Are we talking about the same person?"
"And totally infuriated."
"Now, that sounds right." He took a careful sip.
"And he worships your dad."
Sam pursed his lips and let her continue.
"But you don't."
"No comment."
She smiled.
He caved immediately. "Completely off the record. I love my family, but I … sometimes, I think I'm cut from a different cloth.
Cassie considered that for a moment. "You know, I always wondered what it'd be like to have a sibling. Like now, it'd be great to have someone to help me check in on my mom."
"It probably would depend on who that sibling is." Sam didn't want to say too much and he probably just had.
"You and Dean get along, don't you?"
"Surprisingly, most of the time, we do. I mean, I trust him with my life."
"Yeah. I do, too. Which is odd, considering…" Cassie clipped the statement, already having gone further than she'd intended.
"Considering what?"
She shook her head. If Dean wanted to discuss what went on between them with his brother, he most certainly could. Cassie was not going to do it. She wouldn't even have known where to start.
Sam held up a finger. "Another question."
"Okay. I think you're down to seventeen, though."
He smiled and nodded, "That poem in the bathroom, with the pressed flowers. That's Dean's handwriting, isn't it?" He didn't mention the little cloth pouch he'd found stashed under the bathroom sink. At first, Sam had been concerned that someone was hexing Cassie, but a quick smell test revealed angelica root and van van oil were among the ingredients. Sam deduced that it was part of Dean's due diligence in protecting the place.
Cassie grinned, remembering the day, back then, when she had found the hand-whittled wooden frame on her desk. "Astute observation, counsel. He didn't write the poem, though."
"I know. It's, uh, Langston Hughes, isn't it? Song for Lucinda?"
Now, she was officially impressed and didn't bother trying to conceal it. "You are full of surprises, Sam."
He felt his face warm at Cassie's approval. "My girlfriend turned me onto his work. She was really into him. I would have thought Dean was allergic to poetry. And did he actually press those flowers?"
She nodded. Dean had given her that a few days after moving into her tiny room. Even after he was gone, it was too beautiful to toss. It was one of the few keepsakes she had kept from their whirlwind time together. That, and apparently, the record that she had never listened to.
Sam was still doing the math in his head. Dean always went after gorgeous women, so that was no surprise. But usually, his brother got his physical gratification with vacuous bimbos and then he was on his way. Cassie was amazing in ways that reminded Sam of Jess: assiduous, passionate, smart. Not that Dean wasn't great in his own ways, but these two just didn't seem like a match. However, like Dean had told him time and again, it wasn't his business. "Question sixteen."
"I get my twenty when you're done." Cassie held the computer on her lap, but didn't open it yet.
Sam snickered, "Deal. How on earth did you two meet?"
"Dean didn't tell you?"
As if. "His version was basically three words."
Cassie finished her tea before beginning. "Well, the AASU…"
"African American Student Union?" Sam made sure he knew what she was talking about. A few of his friends had been in the club, but he didn't know much about it.
"Yeah. We were having our annual fish fry…"
Dean had followed the free food. That made sense.
BACK THEN
Dean had been questioning college students for hours when he saw the poster for a free fish dinner. Never a man to miss out on an opportunity to mix business and pleasure, he followed the sign into a room full of outstanding smells, live jazz and African Americans engaged in animated conversation. It was a pretty relaxed atmosphere except for all the heads that turned to watch as he made his way over to the buffet.
He nodded and waved at people he didn't know, chalking even the most malicious stares up to curiosity. He wasn't here to fight. He was here to eat.
"Am I cool to be here, sir?"
The older man behind the table who was doling out green beans nodded, "All are welcome, brother. Help yourself."
"Awesome." Dean surveyed the room while he hummed his approval at the incredible burst of flavors in his mouth.
Once he was done, he returned the plate with a hearty dose of gratitude and began approaching people with his photograph of the maimed professor.
There was at least one other guy, one with fair skin, who stood out in this crowd. He was talking to a serious looking, seriously hot brown girl with curls nearly to her ass. Dean had no trouble admitting to himself that the guy was attractive, in that Mediterranean way: pitch black hair and dark features, like his dad. He was a worthy opponent for this girl's attention.
Good food, hot girl and all on the clock. Had to love this job. Now, if only it paid.
Dean assessed the situation. The girl and the guy were standing close, facing each other. The girl stole a piece a fruit from the guy's plate. That suggested intimacy, but the distance between them made Dean suspect that the guy was stuck firmly in the friend zone.
Game on.
If Bryce had been thinking clearly, he would have known that the worst thing he could do was try to control Cassie. But he was, understandably, on edge, afraid to mess this up. He gripped the young woman by the arm, "Don't talk to him. He looks like trouble."
She looked the new guy over. He seemed almost drunk with confidence, a huge smile splitting his undeniably handsome face. It was the kind of face, he was the kind of guy, that a lot of girls probably went for. Usually, Cassie would have been utterly turned off by his strut, but Bryce's order was like a direct challenge. She took an imperceptible step forward and offered her hand, "Cassie Robinson. This is my associate."
"Cassie." Dean kissed the back of her hand with his fish-greasy lips.
She laughed, mainly because Bryce was beside himself with irritation. His eyes were wide and unblinking watching the exchange. A hand clasped him on the shoulder. Sweaty and startled, Bryce hesitated and let himself be dragged into another conversation, never taking his eyes from Cassie and Dean.
Dean couldn't have been better served if he had orchestrated the distraction himself, "What's with your friend? He looks constipated."
Cassie shrugged, "I guess you make him nervous."
Somehow, that comment reminded Dean of the case and he held out his photo for her to see. After all, he was here to work. She recognized the prof. She knew his name, but not his field. It was soon clear that Cassie Robinson didn't have any useful intel. It was also clear to Dean that he wanted her. "If you think of anything else."
Cassie examined the business card he had handed her. He definitely didn't seem like FBI.
Dean pulled a small pad and pen from his inside jacket pocket. "And I'm going to need your number. In case I have any more questions. Like if something occurs to me in the middle of the night. You know, on second thought, maybe it's just best if you were somewhere I can put my hands on you at all times."
Cassie tilted her head, "You can't possibly think that's appropriate conduct. And shouldn't you have a partner? How about we come to an agreement, Agent … Richards?" She read the name from the card. "I won't call your superior and tell them you're being a creep on duty and you tell me what this is investigation is all about."
Dean was actually amused by her threat, especially since she'd just be calling his father. "How about we sweeten the deal with drinks?"
"I don't drink."
"Then, coffee."
"I don't drink coffee."
"Who doesn't drink coffee?" He asked, incredulous. This was never going to work out.
"Is this still part of the interrogation?" Cassie folded her arms over her chest.
There was something about this girl, if only the thrill of the chase. "All right. I saw a pool hall coming into town. How about we go shoot a few rounds?" It would give him a chance to show off a little, maybe cozy up behind her, show her how to hold the stick.
"You want to shoot pool?" She smirked.
He grinned wolfishly, "Sure. I don't bite. And maybe I'll be less of a creep when I'm off duty."
"I really doubt it."
As it turned out, this girl was good at pool. Crazy good. Run-for-Dean's-money good. And she had hustled him: not for money, but she had pretended not to know how to play. She let him spend twenty minutes explaining how to bank a shot. Then, she had proceeded to best him not once, but three out of seven games.
While they played, she had interrogated him about his investigation until Dean figured out that she was a journalism major, itching for a bleeding lead.
By the end of the night, she let him walk her back to her dorm, but hadn't given him so much as a peck on the cheek. His typical MO would have been to chalk her up as a difficult waste of time. Instead, he heard himself ask, "Can we do this again sometime?"
"I don't know, Agent Richards. This was a business meeting for me. And not a very fruitful one."
"Just hang out. Exchange notes." Dean was shocked at himself. He was seriously asking for a second date from a girl who hadn't put out.
Cassie had to admit that she had enjoyed herself. He wasn't just a face. He was warm and silly and really easy to talk to. "Maybe next weekend."
Dean's heart sank a little. "I'm not sure I'll be around that long."
She looked him over, sizing him up and thought, 'what the hell.' "I'm assigned to review a concert on campus tomorrow night. It would be a weird coincidence if we both happen to be there. Wouldn't it?"
Dean was a twenty-oneyear-old music lover who had never been to a concert. He was a grown man who hadn't gone out with the same girl twice since he was sixteen. He told himself, the key to success in life was to remain cool. The cool thing would be to stop glancing over at her, but he couldn't help himself. At least half of the time, he found her smiling back at him, then, shaking her head. It made her curls bounce in the most adorable way, which made his stomach flip in a decidedly uncool way.
They sat in the Impala under a streetlamp with the heater blasting warm air on their feet while they talked about everything from music to movies to politics. There was a lot of laughing, more shouting and almost no common ground between them. Cassie was as strictly old school R&B as Dean was unbendingly classic rock. The only thing they saw eye to eye on was that most pop music sucked and that the band that night had been shit except for the one Prince cover.
She had gotten worked up over social issues, especially involving minorities and women and was incensed at his lack of knowledge and involvement. He had sat with his chin on his fist and listened to her regale, thinking that he had never seen anything more enchanting in his life. Dean watched her mouth, missing most of the words. He wanted to kiss her so badly his own lips buzzed.
Finally, Cassie looked at him and seemed to realize he was staring. She covered her nose and mouth with her fingers for a moment. "Do I have something in my teeth?"
"No." He laughed, "No. Just…" 'In love with you, I think.' He didn't say it, but it freaked him out to be thinking it.
Suddenly uncomfortable, she rested her hand on the door handle, "Well, Agent Richards …"
"It's Dean."
She looked at him. She had already promised herself and Bryce that she was not going to go out with this guy again. He was good-looking and easygoing, but not anybody you let yourself develop real feelings for. He was the kind of guy a sorority girl might fuck after drinking too much and then forget about.
"Winchester … Richards is a … Sometimes, we assume false identities to protect … when… Actually, I'm not FBI. I'm actually… I'm a hunter." The truth just tumbled out of his mouth.
Cassie's eyes grew wide at the admission. She had known when she met him that he wasn't FBI. "A hunter?"
Dean quickly caught himself. "Bounty. Hunter. You know … Guys skip bail and we, my dad and I, we track them down and cuff 'em and…" He made himself stop talking.
She cocked her head, doubtful. "You telling me that Professor Mendoza skipped bail?"
"No. He … Might have had some information. It's not important." The tangled web of lies and truths he was weaving was going to trap him if he wasn't careful.
"You're very strange, you know that?"
"I'm also cute." Dean smiled and raised his eyebrows, angling for a laugh.
She didn't even crack a smile. "No. You're not cute."
"Ouch." Despite his best efforts, Dean was offended.
"You're … not cute." He was irresistible. A rush of warmth ran through her entire body and she reached for the door again.
"Cassie."
Suddenly, she barked back at him. "You do this on every case, don't you? Pick up some girl and try to make her fall for you. Sportsman, right?"
"No." He was stunned by her sudden attack. The truth was, he was always looking for a chance to get laid. This already felt like something else.
She could feel herself beginning to capitulate and cursed under her breath. "What's the point? You said yourself you don't even know how long you're in town."
"So, you gonna pass up a chance at a good time just because it's going to end?"
"Why even start something up with a guy if I know it's not going anywhere?" She asked herself out loud.
"Why go to Disney World if you can't move in?" Dean thought it was a good counterargument. He should have been a lawyer. Sammy would be proud.
Cassie cocked her head, trying not to be amused. "Are you comparing yourself to Disney World?"
"I am one hell of a ride." Again, Dean was mostly joking. Not that he didn't want to get her in bed. Mostly, he just wanted to see her again. No strings.
She huffed and shook her head. "Good night, Agent." Unlike most of her friends, she'd been able to keep her college regrets to a minimum. She forced herself out of the car to keep it that way.
He stood up out of his door and called after her. "It's Dean."
She didn't even turn around. He had stared up at the building for an embarrassingly long time, knowing that she was in there somewhere. Reading, answering emails, writing her review, showering, brushing all that hair, getting ready for bed.
During the course of their conversation, Cassie had gone over a day in the life of a student for him. He couldn't believe he had actually found it interesting enough to remember. Or that he found her interesting enough to wake up that frigging early.
The next morning at 7:30, Dean was out there, at what felt like the ass crack of dawn, when she walked out of the building with a friend. The other girl gave him the most lurid gaze he'd gotten in a while. He didn't know whether to say 'good morning' or file a sexual harassment suit. She whispered something to Cassie that could not have been polite and spun twice to look at him again as she walked away.
"You make an impression, don't you?" Cassie hugged her arms around her books.
"I feel a little dirty." He shuddered a little. Not that the other girl was unattractive, but Dean felt weird about being put on display like that in front of Cassie. And then, he felt even stranger about feeling weird about it.
She began to walk briskly, presumably toward her class, definitely away from Dean.
Cassie knew she had just the right amount of time to get there and that did not include shooting the shit with Agent Dean Richards Winchester or whatever his name was.
He kept pace alongside her.
"Are you stalking me, Agent?"
He winced. "Would you stop calling me that? I told you my name."
She smiled, but didn't slow or look at him.
"Here." He handed her the steaming cup he had been holding by one of those stupid cardboard grips.
"What is this?"
"Tea." He raised his brow as she held it to her nose.
"Peppermint."
He nodded. "Did I do good?"
Cassie stopped long enough to have a small, scalding sip. She had gotten in so late last night, after talking with him until the wee hours, that she'd overslept and subsequently, skipped breakfast. This would tide her over until she could grab a bite. "Thank you."
He pumped his fist in the air and she laughed.
Throwing her own caution and Bryce's constant nagging to the wind, she asked, "When do you leave?"
"When the job is done." Too soon, he was sure. It was like he was in a different world with Cassie: a different universe, where all the spooky shit couldn't touch him.
"I have class, then work, then, I need to study. If you want to meet up afterwards, for dinner or something."
"That would be awesome." He knew he had said the words too soon to sound cool, but it didn't matter.
Cassie smiled a little, perched up on her tiptoes and pecked his cheek. "See you later. Agent."
His lungs and his feet stopped functioning properly, as all of the warmth in his body seemed to pool around the spot where her mouth had barely touched. It felt so pure and innocent, as if he had never been kissed in his life.
She turned around backwards to correct herself, "Dean."
Then, she jogged off, leaving a minty haze behind her.
Sam couldn't help smiling. It was a sweet story. He could definitely see how they were a classic case of opposites attracting. "One more question. I swear, this is the last one. I know it's not my business, but what's with you and Bryce? He seems very … interested in you."
She got up to get herself a refill. "I should hope so. He's my best friend."
"Just friends?" Sam raises an eyebrow, thinking the guy would be crazy not to make a move on her. "You don't think he … Bryce is… You know … looking for more? With you, I mean?" Sam held his nose over the steam, still watching Cassie's reactions closely.
"Definitely not. And not for lack of trying on my part." She laughed to herself.
"What do you mean?" He shifted a little in his seat.
"Since you want to know everything, I met Bryce at the AASU my first year at Ohio."
Sam had assumed that Bryce's heritage was Latin or southern European, but if the club had let his brother in, there'd be no issue in any case.
"You saw him. He looks like Enrique Iglesias or something. My girlfriends were all giggling like a bunch of middle schoolers. I just asked him out."
Sam huffed. "Just like that?"
She shrugged.
"Like I said: fearless." He had already made that observation to Dean earlier. If there was any woman who could stomach what they did for a living, this was the one.
"What?"
"Nothing." Sam smelled his tea, again.
Cassie went on. "So, we went to this club and unlike most guys I've ever gone out with, he was not only willing to dance, he never wanted to stop. And he was the best dancer I have ever met. Have you ever seen Dean dance?"
"Yeah. It's awful." Sam laughed.
Cassie joined him. "Exactly. Like most guys."
Sam leaned in and whispered like it is the world's biggest secret. "Don't tell my brother this, but I can dance. My girlfriend made me take lessons and I'm not bad."
"What? You mean like ballroom, Dancing With the Stars?" She had a hard time imagining this huge man lumbering across the dance floor.
"Everything. Waltz, Salsa, Tango, Lambada. It was really, very excruciating. Physically and mentally."
They both laughed.
Cassie could understand why Sam didn't want Dean to know. He would never let Sam live that down. She, on the other hand, was fully intrigued. "You are going to have to demonstrate that sometime."
He raised his mug as if to toast and nodded before he had a sip.
"So, how does that work, with you and your girlfriend and being on the road with Dean?" Cassie subdued a tiny, but completely inappropriate prick of envy at the fact that Sam had someone. She had Dean, so that was stupid.
But, did she really have Dean? Where the hell was he? Why was he acting like such a freak? Again. It didn't matter. She was not going to think anything of Dean's little brother other than that he was an interesting person. And nice to talk to. And obviously, very inquisitive.
Sam weighed his words carefully, "Well, it probably wouldn't have worked out, but she's… gone, so…"
"Oh. Sam. I'm sorry." Cassie hadn't expected that. She sat back in her chair.
"Not your fault." He shrugged and tried to smile. It felt false, so he retreated into his cup.
She tried to think of what to say. "What was her name?"
"Jessica." Sam barely breathed it.
"Poetry. Dancing. She sounds like my kind of girl." Cassie hated when people back home tried to skirt the fact that her dad had passed. So, she did the opposite. "When did she…How?"
Sam closed his eyes for a moment. "Is it all right if we talk about something else?"
With the dreams and hallucinations, he didn't want to do more to conjure Jess' image. At least that was what he told himself. Not that he felt strange talking about Jessica with Cassie, like he was somehow being disloyal.
Cassie nodded, "Of course. Um. Bryce, right? I'm sorry you saw his … rude side. He is crazy fun most of the time."
"You'll have to forgive me for noticing. It seems like you guys are really close. How do you know he's not interested in you?" Sam reminded himself that he was inquiring on Dean's behalf.
They weren't her beans to spill, but it's not like it was any great secret. "I'm not proud of this, but I kind of threw myself at him that first time we hung out. He looked right at me and said something to the effect of 'You're a great girl, Cass, and I would totally go for you if only I was straight.'"
Sam's eyes widened just for an instant, "Oh. So, I guess Dean doesn't have anything to worry about, then."
She smiled down at her mug. "Not a thing."