Sam forced back a vague feeling of foreboding as he climbed the steps to Bixby's Bar, flanked on either side by Ron and Danny. He hadn't set foot inside a barroom since the Roadhouse in Kankakee, and he had no desire for a repeat of that unfortunate performance. The Incident, as Sam had taken to calling it in his head, had ended in three broken ribs, two black eyes, a split lip and an odd assortment of other painful aches and discolorations that he'd guessed were deep bruises and fractured bones. And though he couldn't bring himself to dwell on it much, Sam knew it could have been a whole lot worse. While he didn't mind stocking up on longnecks at the little liquor store on the corner, ever since The Roadhouse Incident, bars had been off Sam's list of fun places to go.
He didn't want to disappoint Ron or Danny though, so he kept his reservations to himself and followed the two to a dark table in the corner as the server sidled up.
"Hey Danny." She said in a friendly way. "Hi Mr. Ritter."
"Hi Kandy." Danny replied as Ron nodded. "Can we get three cold ones here?"
"Sure can. Your friend got some ID?"
Sam reached for his wallet and pulled out the Illinois driver's license that had been issued to his alter ego. Kandy palmed it for a minute then handed it back with a smile. "Three cold ones, it is." She winked and turned away.
All three men shared a look and small sighs of relief that they had made it into the promised land without getting turned back at the gate. "Sammy, you're a man destined for greatness." Danny noted, starting in on the bucket of peanuts that served as a centerpiece.
Sam rubbed his hands across his jeans nervously, glancing around to get a feel for the logistics. "Nice place." He lied.
"Man, I can't remember the last time I sat here." Ron added.
"Time to get you back on the map there, Dad."
"I like being off the grid, Son. But thank you kindly anyway."
Danny smiled, "Well, it's cool having a drink with the old man. Makes me feel like a gosh-darned grownup."
"You're an ass, Danny. But I'll keep you around, I guess. At least you give Sam here someone to play with."
Sam and Danny exchanged good-natured eye-rolls as the drinks arrived. "Hey Kandy," Danny caught her before she turned away, "Could we get some appetizers?"
"Anything for you, Danny Ritter." Kandy replied, shooting him another wink before moving to the next table.
Danny had the courtesy to blush as he turned back around to face the group. Suddenly, he found his beer very interesting.
"Well." Sam stated.
"Well what?"
"Well, what the hell was that, son-of-mine?" Ron finished as Sam snorted around the neck of his bottle.
"I think she plans to have your children, Danny." Sam said softly and jumped when someone in the particularly noisy group of patrons behind him cursed loudly.
"Shit!" Sam exclaimed before he could smother his sharp intake of breath. He quickly took a swig of ale to try and cover his sudden case of nerves.
Ron and Danny exchanged a quiet look before Danny replied, "Well, if you want grandkids, Dad," Danny said, "Kandy and I would make you some right smart-looking ones." He raised his glass and winked at Sam.
"You trying to tell me something, boy? And please say no."
Danny chuckled, "When the time comes. You'll know, Dad." He said, mysteriously.
"When the time comes, please don't let it be with Kandy Oldman." Ron replied. "I had drama club with her mother once upon a time, and I don't think the old ticker can take that much excitement ever again."
Sam and Danny both laughed out loud at the sudden image of Ron in drama club, or in high school for that matter, but Sam's hilarity came to an abrupt end when the back of his chair was suddenly hit with a bottle meant for someone in the group behind him. His own beer dropped to the floor as he sat frozen in near panic, glass and beer exploding in a messy mixture all over his hair and dripping down the back of his neck.
Danny jumped to his feet, grabbing Sam on the way up. "What the hell!" he hollered, pulling the taller boy back out of the way. "Bruce!"
The owner came pounding over, bouncer right behind him. "What the hell's going on here?" He growled, eyeing Sam as he stood dripping.
"Not us, Bruce." Ron jumped in. "Your boys over there need leashes."
"And they owe Sam an apology." Danny was as irate as Sam had ever seen him. He tried to act calm - to reassure Danny that everything was fine, but the words were frozen in his throat. Sam's eyes were big as saucers and his hands shook slightly as he stood there, silently dripping on the floor, and he couldn't do a thing to pull himself together.
"The hell you say." Bruce exclaimed, making a beeline for the trouble makers. In a shot, Bruce had one under his left arm and the bouncer had two clasped to his chest as they manhandled the boys toward the exit.
"Sorry, man." One got out as he was dragged past Sam. "That wasn't meant for you."
"Can it!" The owner snarled. "And don't let me see you back here again. You got it?"
Danny eyed Sam apologetically and made a move to try and brush away the small pieces of glass that littered his shoulders. "Kandy!" he hollered, "Can we get a few towels over here?"
The girl hurried over, three dish towels in hand and gave Sam a sympathetic look. "You okay?" She asked, handing two of the towels to Danny and using the third to move around behind Sam and dab at his neck.
Sam tried to smile, "Ye-yeah. I'm fine." He breathed shakily, tipping his head and shaking it gently as glass tinkled to the floor.
"Careful where you step," she said, pressing the last towel into Sam's hands. "I'll go find a broom."
"Well, isn't that some sorry shit!" Ron exclaimed, as he grabbed napkins off the table next to them to wipe off the back of Sam's chair.
"It's okay, r-really." Sam breathed, trying to calm his voice. "Just t-took me by surprise, is all."
Danny was furious. "You hurt, Sam?" He blurted. "Turn around and let me see the back of your neck."
"No, really. I don't think it hit me. It hit the back of the chair."
Danny stood, slightly mollified, as he cleaned the worst of the glass and beer off his friend. "Well, that was bullshit." He said, then repeated it as a shout.
"That was bullshit, Bruce!"
Oh, give it a rest, Ritter!" the owner belted back. "Shit happens. Anyway, your appetizers and drinks are on the house for the duration."
Danny suddenly grinned, "Well hell's bells." He gloated. "That's a horse of a different color then."
Sam ducked his head and grinned, happy that the spotlight was off him, and focused on dabbing up the worst of the wetness that lingered inside the collar of his denim jacket.
"Sam probably wants to go home, Danny." Ron admonished. "He's practically swimming in beer. And by the smell of it, it wasn't even good beer."
"No, it's okay, Ron. Really." Sam assured him. "We can stay. It's mostly all soaked up anyway." He removed his jacket and draped it over the chair back.
Kandy interrupted the exchange just then, broom in hand, and extricated everyone safely off to the side as she swept up the slivers of brown glass. She silently exchanged Sam's chair for the one across the aisle, and shot him an apologetic smile. "There you boys go," She said. "Good as new. Or almost."
Danny returned her smile and Sam thanked her as she moved away.
"I'll be right back with your appetizers. And I upgraded you to the party platter." She said conspiratorially. "What Bruce doesn't know will never hurt him." Another wink.
Sam folded himself into the dry chair, and Danny reseated himself on Sam's left as Kandy arrived with three new bottles. Sam reached for his instantly, attempting to look at ease, but his shaking hands betrayed him.
Danny noticed, "You know, I've been coming here for a good six years, and this is the first time I've ever seen any trouble." he apologized. "I feel bad, Sam. This really is usually an okay place to hang out."
Sam shook his head, frowning. "It's okay, really."
"Danny's right. Bixby's is the last place you'd expect to see trouble. That kind of stuff mostly happens out on Highway 8." Ron added. "But if you want to go, we'll understand."
Sam shook his head, taking another drink. "I think that's our appetizers." He said, hoping to change the subject.
Danny whistled as the server set the huge platter of mozzarella sticks, potato skins and onion rings in the center of the table, adding a small stack of plates off to the side. "We eat well tonight, gentlemen."
"Hot damn." Ron reiterated. "That smells amazing. And suddenly I'm starving."
Sam smiled as the heavenly aroma drifted toward him. He reached a quaking hand out and snagged a mozzarella stick and dunked it quickly in the marinara sauce as Ron handed him a plate.
"What's the world coming to when a guy can't even enjoy a dark barroom and a cold beer?" the older man questioned.
Danny snorted, "Yahoos from out of town. People around here have more sense. You ever see anything like that before, Sam?"
Sam felt suddenly shy, and he took a drink before answering. "Well, I've only ever been in one other bar, but I did get myself into sort of a situation." He said simply and smiled.
Danny stared at him. "Oh, do tell, Sir." He grinned, but Sam just shook his head.
"Sam, you'll learn one of these days that tossing out a morsel like that and then refusing to elaborate just makes Danny crazy." Ron informed him. "You might as well spill the beans now, or he's going to hound you mercilessly into next week."
"S'totally true, Sam."
Sam smiled and shook his head indulgently. "I just … the last time I was in a bar was a roadhouse outside of Kankakee." He said.
"Yes, and?" Danny pried.
"And well, nothing." Sam answered. "I just … I just had never been in a bar before. I mean, when I was younger sometimes I'd follow Dean while he played pool, but I always sat over in the restaurant and watched him from there while I did my homework. But in Kankakee, I wanted to sit at the bar, so I just took the first bar stool I saw that was empty. I didn't pay attention to who was sitting next to it."
"Some hot babe?"
Sam laughed. "No! Some dude who looked to be about seven feet tall and just as wide. I guess when I sat down there, he thought it was because I wanted to talk to him. He started trying to make conversation, and I just wanted to drink a beer and see what all the fuss was about, you know?" He took another swig of beer. "It was the way Dean always did it."
Danny suddenly looked less jolly, "And what happened?"
Sam sighed uncomfortably. "And he started getting real friendly, putting his hands on my shoulders and stuff. When he grabbed my knee, I made for the door."
Danny and Ron exchanged a look as Sam continued.
"But he followed me out and waylaid me behind the dumpster. He called me some names and smacked me around a little, and then he went back inside." Sam finished his story. "Someone woke up me later and called an ambulance, and I got a few cracked ribs and some stitches out of it. That was all."
"He knocked you out, Son?" Ron asked, all pretense of jocularity gone. "Did you call the cops?"
Sam shook his head. "Someone did, I guess. They came to question me in the clinic, but I just wanted to forget it happened." He looked up at Ron and Danny and noted their stricken looks. Suddenly, Sam felt like he'd shared too much and tried to backpedal. "It's okay, really. The guy kind of stalked me for a while, but when I left town, he gave up. No big deal."
Danny stared. "No big deal, he says."
Sam stared straight back. "It really wasn't. Look, I probably shouldn't have shared that. I'm sorry. Dean did always say I made a great buzzkill."
Danny sat back in his chair and risked a glance at his father, who nodded slightly.
"Look Sam," he said, leaning forward gingerly. "Dean's not here right now to do it, so I'm just going to go out on a limb here and play big brother for a minute, okay? First of all – never go into a roadhouse alone. Those places aren't for guys like us who just want to burn off a little steam and throw some darts, maybe shoot a little pool, okay? A lot of the people who frequent the roadhouses are looking to hook up. You get my meaning?"
Sam sat nursing his beer and looking more uncomfortable by the minute.
"Secondly, the barstools are close together in those places for a reason. When you sit next to someone, it's usually because you want them to see that you're interested. Not always, maybe, but it's a good bet – especially if other stools are free. Now that's not to say that what happened was your fault. It wasn't. You should be able to sit anywhere you want and drink a beer without being manhandled, but just for future reference, keep that in mind, okay? Lastly, and I'm only asking you this because you're my friend and I worry, what kind of names did he call you? Did he only beat you up behind the dumpster? Or did something else happen?"
Sam looked away.
"Sam."
"Sam, look at me."
Sam met Danny's eyes.
"What did he call you?"
Sam swallowed, "He called me a cocktease." He said softly. "I didn't know what he meant at first, but I figured it out later."
Danny closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He opened them again and looked straight at Sam. "Did he do anything else?"
Sam shot a haunted look around the bar before returning Danny's stare head-on, "No." He said. "Nothing else. Just the smackdown." He rose from his seat. "I'll get us more beers. Be right back."