Fic: Sammy on My Mind (chapter 2)

[majestic_duxk]

Sam woke feeling really fucking good. For a moment he couldn’t remember why. His mornings generally had a pattern to them: he wakes and he thinks of himself on the deck of The Impalas, navigating the icy waters of the north. Sometimes he sits on deck, and whales jump around him, other times he bravely, and successfully, navigates through treacherous, icy straits. This is promptly followed with by the sickening realisation that the boat is nowhere near done, and his dreams really are just that: dreams.

Today though…

“Dean!”

Fuck! How could he have forgotten! Even as the name passes his lips, so too does the image of a freckled, smiling visage cross his mind. And Sam’s going to see it all again.

In person.

Today.

It was more exciting than Christmas.

The clock revealed 6.45am. It was early – ridiculously so - but Sam was eager to be up. The sooner he got to the Roadhouse, the sooner he’d see Dean again. What time was their assignation?

Unable to stay in bed, Sam threw back the covers and strode naked to the kitchen. Ignoring his morning wood, he whistled a happy tune. He’d deal with that later. After decent coffee, and with thoughts of Dean, and soft lips, and soft skin, and-

Sam would deal with that as soon as he dealt with his best friend, who was currently standing in the middle of Sam’s kitchen, drinking milk straight from his milk carton.


“What the fuck, Cas? That’s nasty. Use a fucking glass!”

He went to snatch it back, and somehow missed. Sam glared at Castiel, his now ex best friend. Castiel paused, hand still held half way to his mouth, as he blinked myopically at Sam.

“What are you doing here?”

Grabbing the milk from Castiel’s limp hand, Sam pointedly took a glass from the cupboard, before pouring himself a big glass. Glaring, he resolutely took a sip, gagging slightly at the flavour. Fucking disgusting stuff.

“I live here. What’s your excuse?”

Instead of answering, the infuriating man got himself a bowl or cereal, deftly snagging Sam’s glass and adding it to the bowl as he made his way back to the sofa, where he had obviously spent the night. Seating himself comfortably, Sam watched as his friends slowly ate whatever sugar laden cereal had been snuck into his cupboards.

“My way is better. Now you have to wash a glass.”

Sam rolled his eyes in response. “You wash it, freeloader.”

Castiel stopped, spoon halfway to his mouth. “There’s… there’s something different about you, today.” Sam winced as milk dripped off the spoon and onto his sofa. Cas’s cat licked it up.

“What the fuck? Why’d you bring your damn cat? You know he sheds everywhere!”

Cas’s eyes narrowed. “Very different. You are in a disturbingly good mood. You haven’t tried to manhandle me out of the house. You haven’t sprayed water on Gabriel. And you haven’t really complained about the milk dripped on your sofa. Or the sandwich crumbs beneath your feet.”

Sam would not have though it possible, but Cas’s eyes narrowed further.

“And you haven’t had any coffee.”

Sam scowled. He was acting normal. Well mainly normal, wasn’t he? And when did Castiel get so insightful? Running a hand through his hair, Sam considered whether to share or not. It was still so new, so precious, and really fucking scary. And Cas would just encourage him anyway.

“And you’re naked.”

--oo--

Retreating to his room to find some boxers, Sam returned, only to throw himself down next to Cas. He ignored Gabriel’s annoyed meow. Fucker didn’t even live here. This was Sam’s sofa and he would park his ass wherever he damn well pleased.

“I met someone yesterday.”

Castiel leant back and imperiously waved the spoon for Sam to continue. Sam ignored the splash of milk. God knows what else had been dropped their without his knowledge. “He’s local. He’s… he’s interesting. I don’t know if… well, I don’t know if we’re gonna like each other, but I really want to find out. We’re having lunch today. Same place.”

Sucking on his spoon, Cas eyed his friend. Sam had rules about locals. And this was against all the rules.

Cas could get behind that.

“I see. You are up at the crack of dawn for lunch.” Castiel paused a moment, then smiled his gummy smile. “Then why are you still here, Sam my man? Go and find your pretty… he is pretty, isn’t he?”

Sam’s answering grin was huge. “Very pretty. Gorgeous green eyes. Freckles. So many beautiful freckles… Strong arms. And a gorgeous ass.” Sighing sadly, Sam leant back and examined the ceiling. “I didn’t get a great look at that.”

“Yeah, it’s hard to admire someone’s derriere whilst seated.”

Cas received a pillow to the face. “You do realise that the milk and cereal now covering your pillows is entirely due to your actions?”

“Whatever. Ass. I’m going out. Try not to be here when I get back.”

Castiel’s voice followed Sam to the door. “I’m making no promises. Your sofa is much more comfortable than my bed. You know I want to move in.”

“And clean up my living room!”

--oo--

Leaving Cas, Sam felt light and happy and maybe even a little hopeful. Which was weird, and the thoughts were quickly squashed. This was nothing more than meeting up with a new friend, another Cas. Although hopefully not one that wanted to spend all his time on his sofa. Dean would look much better sprawled across Sam’s bed. And across the table for breakfast. Maybe even on the deck of The Impala.

Which was not what Sam wanted to think: Sam Winchester did not do relationships. He did not do permanence. Sam Winchester was going to finish his boat and sail around the world. Sam Winchester was going to explore the icy north (oh so different from his Hawaiian paradise) and Sam was going to do things. For the last fifteen years, all Sam had done was play hard with the willing tourists, and worked on his beloved Impala.

None of which explained why he was making his way towards the Roadhouse at ten in the freaking morning! It was bad enough that he was returning, but it wasn’t even close to lunch. Since when did he desperately wear his heart on his sleeve?

Sam stopped mid stride. Heart? Oh no. None of this was about heart. It was about a pretty face and a hot body. It was about maybe making a friend and maybe fucking him over the back of a steam cleaned couch. Yeah. That’s all it was. Friendly fun.

With the matter of Dean’s place in his bed firmly settled, Sam bounded up the front steps of the diner, only to be assuaged with more doubts. If this was just about making a friend, why was he here at ten in the fucking morning? He’d have to, what, admit he’d waited two freaking hours? Was that normal? Was that stalkerish? And there was no way he could hide it. Dean was in tight with those owners. The most sensible plan was to turn around and come back at twelve.

Before he could make his feet move, the cranky old man (Bobby, his helpful brain supplied), caught sight of him through the door. And scowled. Which pretty much decided Sam. Throwing his shoulders back, he pushed the door open, and dramatically surveyed the room. To his delight, Dean was there! Fuck, he must have been as excited as Sam!

Dean was seated at the same table as yesterday, eating the same ridiculous waffles. Sam was hard put not to laugh out loud, as he noticed Dean building the same ridiculous structure.

Strolling over, Sam slid into the chair opposite Dean. He looked thoughtfully at the waffle house, before grabbing a toothpick, and sliding it in.

“There! Much more structurally sound.”

Sam looked up, face split in a grin, only to be met with cold eyes and a tight mouth.

“Uh…”

“Do you think it’s ok to stick your hands in someone else’s breakfast?”

“Uh…”

“That it’s somehow ok to invade another person’s space?”

“Uh…”

Fighting for words, Sam’s mouth opened and shut a few times, before he gave up, giving up that battle for lost. All the while he kept on expecting Dean’s expression to fall into teasing lines, for those eyes to sparkly with laughter, but the hard expression remained the same.

“What makes you think I’m ok with a fucking stranger sticking his hands in my food?”

Sam found his words. “A stranger? Now look, Dean…”

The clatter as Dean’s chair hit the floor was followed by silence. Sam could feel the looks from the other patrons.

“What the fuck? How do you know my name? What are you? You’re a fucking stalker?”

Sam’s shock abruptly twisted into anger, and before he knew it, Sam was on his feet, fists clenched in impotent fury.

“A stalker? A stalker? We had breakfast yesterd –“

Between one breath and the next Sam was on the ground. Blinking stupidly, he stared up at Dean, who was framed with a glow from the morning sun. Despite whatever the fuck was going on, Sam’s cock twitched, because yeah, the man was ridiculously attractive.

“Ow.”

Dean was definitely strong. Those perfectly sculpted arms he had so admired yesterday moved with lightning speed and a hell of a lot of force. Sam hadn’t seen the punch coming, but now his jaw fucking hurt and he’s definitely on the floor.

Son of a bitch!

Gingerly raising himself up onto his elbows, he watched Dean stalk his retreat. He still couldn’t help but notice Dean’s ass was as he stormed across the floor. It was pretty fucking perfect, even though it was clothed.

“Ow!”

Sam yelped as something else hit the back of his head. Hard. Tipping his head, Bobby swam into view. A pissed off Bobby, with arms tightly crossed, and scowl firmly in place.

“Damn idjit! I told you to leave Dean be.”

Sam wasn’t taking that lying down! Struggling to his feet, he leaned against the table. Even hunched and dizzy, he was pleased to note, he was still taller than Bobby. Sam needed every advantage he could.

“And I said that was up to Dean!”

Without changing expression, Bobby still managed to exude smug. “Looks like Dean’s made his opinion pretty clear, don’tcha think?”

Scowling Sam stared sullenly out the window, because no, he didn’t think. Bobby was wrong, because that had been… odd, to say the least. He needed to think about it. And what better place, then at the coffee shop where he’d just been knocked down by his date. Not-date.

Sam eyeballed Bobby, slowly collecting his things, waiting until Bobby’s lips tilted in triumph before seating himself. Making a show of settling himself, Sam reached for the menu, and studied it minutely. He waited until he could feel Bobby about to speak, at which point he looked up and smiled sweetly.

“One coffee of dubious origin and content. Please.”

“Why you–“

“That’s enough, Robert Singer. You’ll get the paying customer his coffee.” Ellen was standing there, hands on hips as she glared at the two men. Sam quirked an exultant eyebrow at Bobby. “And then you and me will be having a talk, boy.”

Sam’s eyebrow dropped. Ellen was way scarier than Bobby.

~o~

Sam sipped his coffee, eking it out as long as he could. Did he really want to talk to these people? Now that he’d had time to think about it… Dean was pretty, and obviously interesting, but was he worth the baggage that bore? A heart clenching moment later, Sam thought he was. The moment after that, he wasn’t. After a ridiculous twenty minutes of flipping between staying and running, he stood – if she was going to say anything, she would have come to him already, right? - only to find himself on the business end of Ellen’s pointy finger.

“I said we’ll talk. You stay until close. Don’t have time before then.”

Opening his mouth to argue, Ellen talks straight over his protestations. “If you’re as interested in Dean as you claim to be, you’ll stay.”

Sam stared. So she had meant it. Which was surprising really. Ellen had barely spoken to him, and nothing about her indicated she was on Sam’s side at all. Sam knew this was it. there’s something about her, something that tells Sam if he can’t get her… well, it’s not going to be a seal approval exactly, but he needs her not actively working against him.

The next few hours pass somewhat pleasantly. Bobby still spilled all of Sam’s drinks, but at least more got on the table than Sam. And he had remembered a book. And the view from here was quite nice. Even if The Impala was still floating in what passed for a harbour on this side of the island.

Sam’s brow clouded. What the fuck? His boat was still there and he hadn’t even thought about it? He was in much deeper than he’d realised.

So caught up in his musings, Sam missed the locals streaming out. He didn’t hear Ellen and Bobby clearing the tables, and it wasn’t until a chair was scraped back opposite him that he looked up to see Ellen’s grim eyes.

“Time you and me had a talk, boy.”

~o~

Eventually Ellen sat, a generous serve of scotch in front of her. None for him, Sam noted wryly. She knocked back half in one go.

“Dean here was the apple of his daddy’s eye. Always a sweet boy, doing things for others. Then last year he decided that his daddy wanted a pineapple for Dean’s birthday.”

That was weird. Hawaii was full of fucking pineapples.

“Where?”

Ellen glowered, but answered his question. “Up at Abaddon’s.”

Sam frowned. “That just makes no sense! We’re in fuc-dging Hawaii.” Ellen didn’t look like she put up with swearing. Sam couldn’t help but snigger under his breath. Bobby looked like the swearing type. He quickly sobered. Now was not the time to indulge in petty byplay. Even if he was sure Ellen could whoop Bobby’s ass. “There are pineapples all year round. Why did he need to go to Abaddon’s? There are least six deaths a year from tourists going over the cliffs, and they’re the worst pineapple on the isla-ow!”

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

Sam nodded sullenly as he rubbed his head. Why did people keep hitting his head? At least it wasn’t his face. Was it so difficult to tell a story without assaulting him? Not that he was going to say that – no, he was invested now. He didn’t really understand why the awesome man he met yesterday was suddenly… suddenly what? Blowing cold, pretending he didn’t know him? Sam didn’t play games: it was one of the reasons he only had one night stands: no time to get attached. Damn Dean and his fucking magnetism.

Ellen stared at him a few moments longer. When she was finally convinced Sam wouldn’t interrupt, she continued.

“As you said, that’s a bad road. We don’t know what happened, but Dean went over the cliff. It was only when he was late, that Dean’s daddy and brother-“

A father and a brother. Sam took note. Two more people to watch out for.

“-went looking for him, and they found him, unconscious but alive. They flew him to the mainland hospital, and he spent a few weeks there, but he’s got some… long term health issues. “

Sam’s eyes sharpened, but he didn’t interrupt. Ellen was obviously looking for an opportunity to stand and leave. Eventually she backed down with a huffed sigh.

“He has anterograde amnesia. Every morning Dean wakes up and thinks it the 26th of January last year. So every day we all treat the day just like it’s his birthday. ”

Sam was no brain specialist but… “Surely Dean is going to see that he’s aging? That the people around him are aging? Even the world is changing.Aren’t you worried about that? And even if that’s in the future, some days you must slip up?”

“Course we are boy!” Bobby’s gruff voice came from behind. “But unless you have a better idea, you’d best leave well alone.”

Sam’s face was thoughtful, until Ellen grabbed his shirt, pulling him in close. “I don’t think you quite understood Bobby. What he meant to say was leave Dean well alone.”

Sam stared at her defiantly. “Really? That’s why you took the time to talk to me, to tell me Dean’s story?” Sam shook his head. “A little something like that isn’t going to scare me-“

Sam jumped, and crockery skittled as Bobby’s fist planted on the table. “This isn’t some game! Dean ain’t a prize. He’s a living, breathing-“

“-man. An amazing human being who I want to know.”

And he did. They’d only met twice, and he’d been assaulted once. He still somehow knew that Dean was really, fucking important. And just like that, Sam made his decision. “It’s not a game, Bobby. And if I am playing, it’s for keeps. Just remember that.”

~o~

It could never be said that Sam wasn’t stubborn.

It’s how he got his boat built. In the scant, precious moments between working and fucking pretty much every visitor that took his fancy, he’d worked on her. And now he had another project: to somehow win Dean Winchester.

The first twenty times Sam returned to the roadhouse, were purely observational. He recorded Dean’s movements minutely, his trusty notebook at his side. At the same time, he carved out a Sam shaped place at the Roadhouse. But he never approached Dean. If their eyes happened to meet, then sure he’d smile, nod, and if Dean happened to start a conversation? Well, Sam treasured those days. Dean’s smile was warm and open, and Sam was very careful to keep his thoughts above the waist.

And if sometimes his eyes lingered a little, well, Dean was an attractive man. He was used to admiring glances. On good days he’d wink. Other days, Dean was dark and surly. He’d once snapped Sam’s head off just for looking at his ridiculous iced chocolate drink. Bobby had sniggered behind the bar, but Sam hadn’t cared. It was his and Dean’s fifth interaction.

~o~

It was Day 31 and Dean came breezing in.

“Morning, Bobby! Morning, Ellen! I think I’d like-“

“The usual today.”

Dean and Bobby spoke in unison. Bobby rolled his eyes, and Dean grinned widely. It was a standing joke, and thus far happened 41% of the time. Sam made a subtle note. When Dean was like this sometimes he…

“Oh, what do we have here? A new face?”

Dean sat down opposite Sam. This was the first time he’d done that! And made the sixth time Dean had acknowledged him outside of a smile or nod.

“We don’t often see new people here. What’s your name, stranger?”

In his bones, Sam knew it was going to be a good day.

Which of course meant that the shit really hit the fan.

~o~

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, buddy, because no one – and I mean no one–says that. My mother was a fucking saint.”

Sam held his hands out placating. “Look, Dean—“

The growl the man emitted was truly terrifying.

“Stop acting like you’re my fucking friend! You don’t fucking know me! I just felt sorry for you, okay? Asshole!”

A moment later Sam was blinking chocolate milk out his eyes as Dean stormed off. That… that really didn’t go how he expected. Grabbing a napkin, he wiped his eyes down before finding his feet, ready to follow Dean out. But before he could do much more than gain his feet, Bobby was pushing him firmly back down.

“Mind telling me what that was about?”

Shaking off Bobby’s hand, Sam stood again “Not now, Bobby, I have to—“

Once more he was pushed none too gently back down into his seat.

“I said, what was that about?”

The sound of tires squealing out of the car park broke his concentration, and sighing, Sam resigned himself to the inevitable. If Dean was already gone, there was no need to chase after him. Even though he was pretty pissed at Bobby. It was none of his fucking business!

“I don’t know, Bobby.” Sam frowned under Bobby’s answering glare. “I don’t know! I just said his iced chocolate was extravagant, and didn’t he want to try something else, and then he was yelling at me. I don’t even know how it became about his mother!”

Now that Sam was explaining it, he felt anger start to burn low in his belly. Ignoring the silent conversation Bobby and Ellen had above his head, Sam fed the flames. Really, why was he wasting his time trying to date a man who couldn’t remember that they’d ever met, and who had more triggers that a… holy fuck! Sam’s blood ran cold. Dating?! Who said anything about dating? This was just about friends. And even if Sam wanted something different, Dean didn’t even remember who he was.

But dating… that was something more than seeing someone more than once. Which didn’t work, seeing as Dean would never remember seeing him more than once. Which would have suited old Sam just fine. New Sam… new Sam wanted something more. Fuck. Sam was totally fucked.

Unaware of Sam’s crisis, Bobby and Ellen continue eyeballing each other until Ellen finally finishes their conversation aloud.

“We can’t actually blame him for this one, Bobby. There’s no way he could have known.”

Bobby looked like he could definitely blame Sam, but eventually bowed his head to his wife’s decision. Not that he wasn’t petty, oh no. With practised moves he wiped the table down, smirking as he flicked more chocolate milk onto Sam.

Joke was on him, though. Sam was so covered in the shit he just didn’t care anymore. He did, however, want to glean more information on his erstwhile lover. Heh. Dean as his lover. Sam drifted off into fantasy land before Ellen’s deep sigh pulled him from his happy thoughts.

He watched her until she fidgeted. Yeah, he had information mining from the Singers’ down to a fine art. Push Ellen, she left you hanging. Wait her out though…

Finally she dropped into the seat opposite, grimacing at the squelch. Sam wisely kept his snickers – and comments about Bobby’s cleaning ability – to himself.

“Dean’s momma passed around twenty years back. She was making iced chocolate for the boys when there was a freak chemical reaction between the ice cream and chocolate syrup. The whole kitchen went up in flames, leaving nothing but one untouched bag of marshmallows.”

Wow. Sam actually had no idea what to say.

“Dean’ll only drink iced chocolate now, in memory of Mary. And he doesn’t take kindly to strangers having opinions on his drink.” Sam didn’t miss the quick glance towards Bobby. “Or friends either.”

Sam made a face. “I don’t object to iced chocolate. Or hot chocolate. Or even lukewarm chocolate. I can kinda understand the whipped cream tower, and even the chocolate powder on top. Chocolate syrup? Sure, that goes in hot chocolate. But the three pumps of raspberry, plus red sprinkles, and the pile of marshmallows on the side?”

Not that he needed to explain. Sam’s expression said more than words ever could.

“It’s a tribute.” And yeah, Ellen’s voice was more than a little defensive.

“Sam’s got a point.”

Sam had to blink. Was… Did… Did Bobby Singer just agree with him?

“We are not having this discussion again, Bobby! It’s nothing we haven’t said before, and I don’t think we should be starting this in front of Sam.”

The couple were gearing up for an argument, and despite the temptation, Sam really wasn’t in the mood to see Bobby get his hat handed to him.

He had to see Dean. Despite the ridiculousness of the drink, and the… the sheer fucking melodrama of the reason for it, it was important to Dean. Which made it important to Sam. Which meant…

“I have to go apologise.”

That stopped the pair. Bobby’s mouth dropped, but Ellen through back her head and laughed.

“Really?”

Nodding shortly, Sam stood, only to be stopped by the mocking look in Ellen’s eye.

“And where exactly are you going? To Dean’s?”

Ah. Where did Dean even live? Pursing his lips he turns back to the Singer’s. Neither of them looked open to imparting that sort of information. And, of course, there’s no point apologising tomorrow. Maybe… maybe that was a silver lining? Dean would never remember the bad stuff. But he’d never remember the good stuff either.

Sam was screwed.

“See you tomorrow,” Ellen called as Sam walked out the door.

Her voice held smug certainty. She knew - thought she knew – that Sam was going to give up. That it was too hard, and he’d just call it a day. Especially after such a public rejection. Because yeah, even here, in a backward part of the island, Dr Sam Campbell had a reputation. He was a one night only, no promises, love ‘em and leave ‘em type. So of course he could understand the attitude.

But they’re all wrong, and against even his own expectations, Sam found himself falling in love with Dean a little more each and every day.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4