He was fishing in his pocket for his keys when he left the club, cursing like a sailor because he was too drunk to find them. He knew he was being reckless. He knew that getting liquored up, then running around town weaponless, inviting trouble, didn’t rank anywhere in his list of top five “smart ideas”.
It was stupid, stupid and even more stupid. But he was tired---so gawd awful tired and maybe just maybe one of the other teams’ players would make this easier for him. Though in Texas he’d learned you could kill some demons barehanded, although it was messy–and it had left Dean feeling a little sick afterwards, but it had been a victory for the good guys.
“Hoorah!” he thought almost sarcastically.
He finally found the keys in his inside coat pocket, the one where he shoved all the phone numbers passed his way. He let the numbers fall and watched as the wind carried them all away. It was better that way; he wasn’t in the mood to think about Sam while he pounded into some faceless girl or guy, because sometimes he actually managed to fool himself.
The right mop of gold-brown hair, the right height and it was easy to pretend---way to easy.
It helped, soothed the pain for a little while, but come morning there was only disappointment. Cold, bitter and devastating disappointment!
Now came the hard part, getting his fingers to work long enough to open the Impala door. He wasn’t sure how long he’d tried, long enough for his nerves to wear thin, for him to think about busting a window out of his precious car.
For a minute he laughed, imagine that--- HIM hurting the Impala, when he’d threatened to do bodily harm to Sam for the same thing on more than one occasion. His prized car! So damned important he could call it baby, sweetie and confess his love to it but not to Sam! Never to Sam!
No chick flick moments.
There was the sound of glass shattering and the warmth of blood trickling down Dean’s hand long before he’d even registered the angry tears that were sliding over his cheeks. For a while he just poured out his frustration on the car door. Trying to make it hurt as much as he did.
And then he was just sitting on the ground his back to the Impala and his head in his hands.
“Why, Sam? Goddamnit, WHY!” Why’d you have to go and sacrifice yourself to save me? That’s what he was really saying, but the anger in his words somehow managed to mask his broken desperation.
It took a minute or two for him to register that someone was taking the keys out of his hands, that this same person was hooking his elbow and dragging him gently to his feet.
“lemme lone!” He tried to take a swing but his arm was caught, twisted back just enough to keep him from trying it again.
“Have Davison drive the Impala back to the plantation, I’ll take care of him.“ Dean barely heard the words the fellow said as he handed the keys over to some stranger; scarcely registered the silky tones those words were spoken in but he understood the general idea.
So maybe the evil team wouldn’t get him after all---just plain old-fashioned car thieves. Did people kill for cars like the Impala? Or dump you along side the road and leave you to hoof it home? He really didn’t have a clue.
“Look at the mess you’ve made of yourself.” This time the voice registered, but yet it had just enough of that alien hardness to make Dean question his own ears.
No he’d never sounded like that. It was his imagination that made Dean associate those strong, pitying tones with those from his past.
Yet when he was hauled up and into the familiar crook of that shoulder he stopped questioning.
“Sammy!” He tried to twist so he could see but it was dark and the only light around came from a stereo system in some tricked out black sports car he was being shoved into.
How he’d gotten from point A to point B without registering it proved just how drunk he’d really gotten.
He caught sight of long dark hair, hair far longer than even Sam wore, and the smell of leather and steel masked the sweet warm scent that was his Sammy---but it WAS him! It was Sam.
“ Sam? Sammy?!?!” Then he was in the car and Sam was kneeling down to fasten his belt. He knew it was Sam because he looked up at him and even in the darkness, even with such differences Dean knew.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” It was a stupid thing to say considering Sam was evil now but Dean couldn’t help it. The liquor and the emotion were clouding his brain.
“I know, I’ve been watching.”
“I thought! I don’t know---I guess,” There was a pause from Dean; a moment of clarity as he pulled his tears back and said firmly. “Chick flick moment, give me a minute.” He watched Sam smile.
“And we can’t be having none of those. Dean Winchester 101!” He watched Sam’s eyes take on an evil twinkle, amused but not murderously so. It was a foreign look on Sam’s face, made him look a hundred years older than he actually was. Yet Dean supposed that it was also a good sign, at least his brother wasn’t so far gone that he wanted to rip his own flesh and blood limb from limb.
“Sammy!” He reached out and brushed his fingers across Sam’s cheek. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“You did---but I always knew where you were.” Sam’s words were gentle, but his eyes were laced with a wicked sort of tease. It was almost enough to make Dean think of those all-to-familiar orbs as cruel but not quite, harder maybe but not cruel.
In fact Sam wasn’t acting very evil at all---he was just---acting different and that in and of itself should have been a surprise considering the situation.
“What’s with the hair, dude, and the swanky threads? You look like a rocker boy lawyer.” Dean had no idea why he’d blurted that out other than the fact that Sam looked so---well---unlike Sam. And even being face down in an ally drunk he had cataloged every minute difference in the space of a heartbeat.
Sam laughed and the sound of it was rich and velvety, sin wrapped in silk.
“Something like that but not quite.” Sam tilted his head, gave Dean one of those ‘I’m sorry you’re sick, big brother---and I know it’s my fault’ looks just before touching his forehead and sending him into blissful darkness.
When Darkness Falls by Kasten