Chapter Text
A scattershot collection of clothing litters the floor and double bed of the motel. Sam is standing at the doorway to the bathroom, arms crossed. Looking silently at the mess. Dean is leaning against the wall by the open window, blowing smoke into the cold night air. Sam wants to say something. Anything. But then what good would that be? Dean doesn’t want to talk about it. Sam tried. Dean doesn’t want to talk about it. So then, Sam tried, pleading, again. But Dean, being Dean still doesn’t want to talk about it. Dean never wants to talk about it. Sam considers packing up the clothes. His only suite is getting rumpled, on the floor, and he’s going to need it before the job is over. Instead he just steps over it, walking to the door. Sam stops, hand gripping the handle. He waits for Dean to ask him where he’s going, to tell him to stay away from the Impala. Anything.
Dean keeps smoking.
Sam walks out the door.
He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he knows that he needs alcohol. Now. In what feels like moments, but was more likely ten minutes Sam is standing on the high street. There are a few pubs scattered around the place. One bar that looks like it’s trying to be high end. And a club with a small cluster of girls, all giggling in high heels and skirts that are just about too short.
Sam doesn’t want to think and the best place to not think, he knows from his years in Stanford, is a nightclub. Music so loud that it drowns everything out. Also, there’s no way in hell that Dean would be caught dead in one of those places. So he’ll be safe there. Safe from his thoughts, safe from Dean unexpectedly appearing in search of alcohol.
Sam walks in, the bouncer that has been ID-ing everyone in the queue doesn’t try to stop him. Lights are flashing and the harsh beet of electro house is blasting at his senses with the force of a machine gun.
He glances around the room. Two bars. Girls are looking at him, smiling. Maybe later. He thinks as he weaves his way, in and out of dancing people to the further bar. Women are not what his palate craves tonight. A boy with short-cropped hair and a leather jacket is standing at the bar.
Dean.
But it’s not. Just some punk kid, trying to be older and cooler than he really is.
“Double whiskey strait” he shouts to the bartender, wincing. Maybe the club was not such a good idea after all. But the entrance fee has already been paid and he can’t help but fell that leaving now would just be a waist of whoever’s stolen credit card he’s using at the moment’s money.
He downs the whiskey, but the taste reminds him of… never mind what it reminds him of.
“Shot of vodka.” The barman arches an eyebrow but says nothing as he pours. Sam leers at him, the way he’s seen Dean leer at pretty girls. The barman’s not hard on the eye. Tall, as tall as Sam, which is a rarity, and wider. His hair is jet black, short, jelled into spikes. Eyes blue, the blue light inside the glass bar table making them seem electric. The barman smiles back, appreciatively.
The shot goes down well. The barman’s name is Ben. He used to be a cage fighter. Sam thinks that’s sexy. Ben laughs. Sam has another shot. The music’s not so bad now. His ears have become used to it. He’s even tapping out the rhythm with his fingers on the bar.
Another shot. Sam’s hips are swaying. He thinks back to all the times he went out to nightclubs with Jess. She used to love it. The dancing she would tell him it’s all about the dancing. So he had learned to dance. And then he had learned to enjoy it. He wonders why he hasn’t been out dancing before this.
Dean.
Dean.
Sam is not thinking about Dean.
* * *
Dean walks into the club. Easy pussy. Lots of booze. No Sam.
Most importantly no Sam.
Because Sam is Sam and he will be sitting in some dark and dingy bar, thinking. No doubt still cradling his first beer. Because Sam does not drink when he’s upset. He thinks it will lead to alcoholism. Fucking geek.
The music’s too loud, but that’s ok. He scans the room. Going for the closest bar. Beer. Beer is good. He turns his back to the bar leaning on it. The girls are great, short skirts riding up as they move their hips to the music. He inspects each one, picking. Not that he’s very picky, he doesn’t care which one takes him home tonight, as long as her skirt is short, heals are high, and she’s hot. Face doesn’t matter only when he’s too drunk to see straight. He’s not that drunk tonight.
Sam.
Correction. He’s not that drunk tonight. Yet.
Dean glances over to the second bar and his breath stops. Like a huge fucking fist just grabbed him by the throat and is refusing to let go. There’s Sam… his…Sammy leaning on the bar, flirting with the barman. He can’t hear them, but he knows Sam, knows how he moves, knows Sam’s movements better then his own. Sam is drunk. And Sam is flirting.
* * *
Sam thinks he might dance. Sam wants to dance. In fact, Sam really wants to dance. Ben pours Sam another shot of Vodka. Grey Goose now. Free. Flirting with barmen pays off, some part of Sam’s alcohol clouded mind thinks.
“I get off in ten minutes.” Ben breathes into Sam’s ear.
“I thought barmen had to work till late.”
“Yeah, but I started early tonight.”
Sam smiles, he feels flustered, and naughty, and god damn it! If his brother can be a slut, so fucking can he.
Sam moves carefully away from the bar, still smiling at Ben, turns around and makes his way to the dance floor.
When he glances at the bar Ben is watching him. Licking his lips. When he looks back again a few minutes later Ben’s gone. Sam shrugs and keeps dancing. The music is hypnotic. God. He’s missed dancing. He closes his eyes.
Suddenly hands are on his hips and for a wild moment Sam thinks it’s Jess, but no. These hands are too large.
“You, dancing like this, makes me want to give you everything I have.”
Sam plays with the idea of saying a line out of a poem he once read: who says I want your everything tonight? And even opens his mouth to say it, but then it’s too late because he’s been spun around and Ben is kissing him. Sam wants to pull away. Too soon. Too quick. I don’t even know you! But he doesn’t. Fuck it. He thinks. And Sam’s kissing back just as passionately.