Fic: Sammy on My Mind (chapter 3)

[majestic_duxk]

Diner assignation 61 found Sam was on the porch, watching as Dean drove off. Another day, another lack of anything. No smile, no acknowledgment and definitely no date.

“It’s never gonna happen. He’s never going to recognise you. No matter how hard you try, he’s never gonna waltz over to your table and sit down.”

“I don’t want him to just sit down with me. We made a date. I want that date.”

Bobby snorted. “It’ll never happen, boy.”

Fucking smug asshole. He didn’t even have a reason to be on the porch.

“Yeah?” Sam turned, face set in lines of determination. “You don’t think so? Then how do you explain that first day? He asked me, if you recall correctly.”

Which Sam sure as hell did.

“Beginners luck,” Ellen responded this time. Just as smug as her stinking husband.

“I don’t need luck.” Ok, so that was an absolute lie, but Sam bravely rallied himself. “I don’t need it, because somehow Dean is going to know I’m serious. Somehow, he’s going to work out we’re meant to be together, and somehow, we are going to go on that date.”

He ignored their sniggers. “Dean is going to know I’m serious, and then you’ll be eating your words.”

There’s no heat to his words, though. How can there be? He’s living in a fucking fantasy land. Dean hasn’t acknowledged his existence, other than to smile like he does at everyone else. Well, except for that time when he punched him. And threw his drink in his face. Maybe Sam’s an idiot. Maybe he should just give it all in.

Maybe tomorrow…

~o~

The 62nd visit to The Roadhouse started exactly like the 46 of the others. Dean came in with a jaunty swing to his hip and a cheeky smile on his face. Sam’s heart clenched as Dean offered a kind word for everyone. Except Sam. Dean’s eyes glossed over him, moving on to someone else, someone he knew. And it fucking hurt. Then and there Sam decided he had to stop this. His heart was too tender for any more.

And he swore he’d never mess with anyone again. Not that he’d ever intended to break anyone’s heart… But now he’d experienced himself… small things could still hurt. And it was all his own fault. Dean had never promised him a thing. How could he? But it still felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. Gearing himself up to see Dean’s smile for the last time, Sam studied his Dean notes, ready to record this last meeting.

Except that he heard the scrape of wood against floor as the chair opposite him is pulled out. And then the muffled thud of a body hitting wood, even as a warm presence seated itself opposite him, and when Sam looked up, green eyes appraise him with interest.

Fuck. It’s Dean. It’s Dean. Dean is sitting right in front of him! Sam’s jaw may have dropped, but he was quick to close his mouth. Though he aimed for a light smile, he knew it was more than a little unsure. Something Dean picked up on, those green eyes twinkling brighter. Damn bastard was used to making people nervous.

“Hi there. Don’t think I’ve seen you before. Come here often?”

Sam heard the crack of a mug hitting the floor, while the drink Ellen was pouring spilled over. Sam was so thrilled he didn’t even feel smug.

Because that was flirty. That was definitely flirty. Dean Winchester was definitely flirting with him.

Which meant that Sam needed to respond. Yes, that was the next step, respond. Dean says something, then Sam says something back, but holy fuck! How was he supposed to answer that? What to start with, hey Dea- No! What the fuck was he thinking? Dean hadn’t introduced himself yet. The silence settled, and Dean started to fidget.

Fuck! Dean was going to think he wasn’t interested, and that was definitely not the case.

Sam’s internal voice went into overdrive. Don’t blow it, Sam. Don’t blow it. This is your final chance, so don’t fucking blow it!. Taking a deep breath, Sam calmed himself. He could do this. He was smooth, he was charming, and his love interest was right in front of him. Now was not the time to fuck this up.

Summoning his best dimples, Sam smiled.

“As often as I can, since I met you.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, as he appraised Sam. Then he threw back his head and laughed.

“You’re a real smooth talker, aren’t you?”

Oh thank god, he responded normally! But what the fuck was he supposed to say now? He now knew so much about Dean, but he couldn’t use any of it.

“Or maybe not.” Dean’s grin dimmed again, and that just wasn’t ok.

“Sorry, I just… wasn’t expecting such a handsome guest. But…” Sam paused, as if thinking. He cocked his head. “I haven’t ordered breakfast yet. You interested in joining me?”

And – there it was. That beautiful smile. Sam felt like he could live on that smile. The last few months of pain and rejection faded into nothing as Dean’s face lit up again, and he settled more comfortably in his seat. He was now a man who was going nowhere.

“Don’t mind if I do. My name’s Dean.”

“Sam,” Sam offered back. “Sam Campbell.”

He couldn’t have held back his smile if he tried. Looking around, Bobby was still staring so Sam threw up a cheeky finger.

“Ah, excuse me? My date and I would like to order. Oh, you are ready, aren’t you Dean?”

“Sure am, I always order the pancakes on special occasions. They’re the best!”

Sam let the conversation wash over him, basking in warmth of the man before him. It was the 62nd day, and Sam knew he’d be back tomorrow. For as many tomorrows as it would take.

--oo--

And it really did mark a turning point. Dean still didn’t remember him, but now, more often (ok three times), Dean would walk in and see him, sauntering over to flirt and sit down and have breakfast with him. Now, more often, even if Dean didn’t approach him directly, his eyes would drift over Sam with interest. Now, sometimes Sam would make the first move and Dean would say yes!

And on those days, Sam was indescribably happy. Cas had even noticed.

Of course fucking Cas would notice. Because at some point in the last couple of months, Cas’s lover had thrown him out, and Cas had settled permanently on Sam’s sofa. With that fucking cat.

And Sam hadn’t even noticed.

“Awww! C’mon, Cas! You know I hate it when you smoke inside!” Sam threw open a window, and fanned the smoke outside. No wonder his house smelt like an ashtray! “Take up baking, I’ve heard that it’s much better on the lungs, and you still get a high.”

“But I like smoking…” Cas’s voice was a whine. “You’re just cranky today because Dean turned you down.”

Spinning on one foot, Sam stared at his friend.

“What! I… He… No he didn’t!”

Leaning back against the sofa, Cas sucked defiantly on his smoke.

“Yes he did. Because the days Dean ignores you, you come back and complain about something. Generally the cat.”

Fucking Cas, with his fucking bad attitude, Sam thought resentfully.

“I don’t like cats.”

“And then you tell me all about your stupid boat and how you’ll tour the arctic with only your cold heart for company.”

What? What was Cas going on about? Sam wasn’t the drama queen here. Before he could defend his honour though, Cas was talking. Again.

“And the days that he does talk to you, you come back and moon about how pretty he is, how the two of you will sail the pacific and bring love to those who need it. When you are willing to share the amazingness that is Dean Winchester. Which will be never, because you’re a selfish bastard.” Cas took another deep drag, then added, “You don’t say that last bit, but it is heavily implied.”

“I do not say that! Any of that! That’s fucking preposterous! And didn’t I tell you to find somewhere else to live? You and that fucking cat?”

Cas nodded agreeably. “Yes you did. And yet, here we are.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. That was a rather mild response to being kicked out. Again. “That’s not a cigarette.”

Cas smiled his big, gummy, stoned, smile at him. “Of course it’s not. I don’t smoke cigarettes. Something you would remember if your head wasn’t full of Dean.” Cas sat abruptly, dislodging the cat.

“I need to meet him. It’s only right. As your best friend, confidant-“

“No.” Sam wasn’t ready for Cas to meet Dean. He wasn’t ready to have someone he knew and trusted tell him what a bad idea this was, and that he should pack up and get the hell out of dodge. He knows it’s a bad idea, but… it’s Dean.

That’s what it always comes back to: it’s Dean.

“- plus I want to try that iced chocolate! It sounds amazing!”

Ok, maybe it was safe to let Cas meet Dean. It wasn’t like Dean would remember anyway.


--oo--


This being Sam’s life, nothing went to plan.

Cas – being the unemployed stoner he was – decided that today was as good a day as any.

And Sam, having cleared his mornings for the foreseeable future couldn’t think of a good enough reason to turn him down, as I don’t want you there, this is private, and he’s never going to sit with me if I have a friend didn’t sway Cas in the slightest. If Sam was stubborn, he didn’t even know the word for Cas.

So that was how Sam found himself sitting at The Roadhouse, sitting opposite a bright eyed Cas who took in fucking everything. He went and chatted with the regulars – and managed to confirm that they were indeed drinking beer at nine in the morning, but none of that imported foreign crap. Well, at least that explained the terrible coffee.

Eventually Cas returned to Sam’s table. Although it was only when the disgusting looking chocoalte drink arrived. Sam noted that it was topped with blue sprinkles. Typical Cas.

“Nice place! I can see why you keep coming back. And this-” droplets of chocolate sauce, and milk, and cream coated his face. Sam made a face. He really hated that drink. “- this is truly delicious, Sam. You should taste it!”

The trouble was, Cas might be totally serious. About the drink and liking the place. Before Sam could interrogate him on what he liked, the door swung open, and there was Dean. Dean’s eyes scanned the room, and Sam could have sworn there was a flicker of hurt when they brushed over Sam and Cas. Of course that was impossible, but it didn’t stop the little stutter of his heart.

What was unmistakable was the furious look from the two men behind him.

“Oh, that’s right.” Bobby placed Sam’s coffee in front of him. “You haven’t met John or Kevin yet.”

~o~

It wasn’t the most comfortable morning he’d spent at the Roadhouse. While Bobby and Ellen had never been warm, compared to John and Kevin, they’d been positively gushing.

Kevin, the brother, split his time between glowering at his books (advanced calculus from the look of it. Hopefully that meant he was brainy not brawny. Sam really hoped his weedy appearance was accurate), and staring at Sam like he wanted to rip his arms off. John though… John just stared at Sam like he wanted to kill him. And John looked tough. John looked strong. And John was most definitely pissed.

Sam knew when to cut his losses. Today he wouldn’t get to talk to Dean, fine. There was always tomorrow. But as he packed his belongings, Ellen whispered, “You leave now, you won’t ever have a chance.”

Fuck. Although it was kind of concerning that Ellen appeared to be on his side. Was it the apocalypse? Breathing deeply, Sam settled himself down. This was make or break time. And he wasn’t going to lose out because he ran. With a firm nod, he looked up, and ordered another coffee.

~o~

“Shit! Dad, we’ve gotta go! The game starts in ten.”

Most of the patrons had left. In fact, all of them, bar the Winchesters, Sam and Cas. Sam was on his fifth coffee and positively buzzing, while Cas had started drinking beer with a man with an impressive mullet. He was pretty sure they’d had more than beer too, as when Cas finally tottered back he was practically floating.

“Super digs, man. Could totally go some waffles right now. D’you think the kitchen’s closed?”

“Yeah the kitchen’s closed. And maybe you’d like to take off while we talk to your… friend.”

Somehow Dean had disappeared, leaving behind two very angry Winchesters. Sam rubbed his temple as Cas squinted at the man in front of him. “Take off where? Sam drove me here, so unless you are offering to drive me home, I don’t have any other options. But if I am being honest, which I always am, I wouldn’t accept your offer. You look angry, and I don’t believe it safe to drive with people under the influence.”

“Uh, Cas…”

Cas turned sincere eyes on Sam. “It is possible to under the influence of emotions, Sam. Just look at the way you’ve been mooning over Dean for months. However, I factored in your driving experience, and that fact that you have safely made it here in excess of sixty times, and decided that I would be safe.”

He turned to study John again, who by this stage looked more confused than angry.

“Cas, you’re under the fucking influence!”

“True. But I’m not driving.”

“You’re not…” John Winchester was staring at him, and it was uncomfortable.

“Not what?”

“Not with this guy?”

Frowning, Sam looked at Cas, who had decided to answer John’s question. “Well, I came with Sam today. And we are friends. And I sleep on his couch. So I am with him.”

“You’re not helping, Cas.”

Sam and John shared a look, and by mutual unspoken agreement decided to ignore Cas, who had lost interest and wandered over to the bar. Good, let Ellen entertain him.

The two men stared at each other.

“So you’re Sam.”

Sam nodded.

John fiddled with a paper napkin on the table. Sam blinked. John was nervous. What did he have to be nervous about?

Before he could speak, Kevin had barged in front of his father. “You’re the asshole who’s fucking with Dean!”

Sam scooted back. The little guy sure was angry. And he moved like he knew how to cause damage.

“I’m not fucking with Dean! I like-“

“Dean’s my brother, and I’m not going to let you hurt him! He’s worth more than just a one night stand.”

Sam was pissed. Jumping to his feet, he towered over the shorter man, who didn’t back down at all. “I said I wasn’t fucking with him! I want more than that! I want-“

Kevin’s bitter laugh cut him off. “More than that? You want more than that? How! Dean doesn’t – and won’t ever – remember more than today! It can’t ever be more than that!”

Sam’s mouth stopped working. Because they were wrong. They had to be wrong. John continued to stare at him, before he nudged his son, jerking his head at something.

“Dean does art therapy.”

Okay… that came out of nowhere.

“Of course he doesn’t know it’s therapy. He just thinks we go to painting classes for his birthday.” John looked at the table again, before calling to his son. “Kevin! Bring the fucking book here.”

The surly looking youth stalked over, throwing a book on the table. Dean: Jan 2015 - written on the cover.

“I don’t care what dad thinks. You do anything to hurt my brother, and I will kill you!” Kevin spat the words at Sam, then stalked out.

“Which isn’t an idle threat, by the way. Dean’s a pretty kid. A pretty, vulnerable kid. We have to look out for him. Always have and always will. And when I came in today and saw you with that…”

Enough was enough. “You saw me with Cas. My friend and roommate. And general pain in my ass, but that’s beside the point.” Drawing a steadying breath, Sam knew he had to be honest. “If you want to know something, ask. Because I’m serious about Dean.”

John’s eyes sharpened at that. “Why? Dean’s damaged. Like Kevin said, his memory’s probably shot for good. And yeah, we’ve tried everything. Sent us practically bankrupt, but it would have been worth it if…” His voice trailed off and his eyes glazed over, before they sharpened once more on Sam. “There’s no point dreaming about what if’s. What I’ve got is a boy who can’t remember his present, and some sick son of a bitch that seems to want him.”

Breathing deeply through his nose, Sam fought to ignore the insult. If he was being fair, he couldn’t blame the man. Dean was vulnerable to all sorts of predators, and he would never be able to defend himself. He wouldn’t remember a damn thing. If anything, now that he understood better, Sam was glad Dean had people looking out for him.

“If my intentions were dishonourable, then I wouldn’t come here, right under Bobby and Ellen’s nose. Like I said. I like Dean. I like him a lot. I know it’s hard, fuck! I’ve been coming here most days for three months and he’s had a pleasant drink with me twice. I don’t know what you think is going on, but it’s pretty much nothing.”

And wasn’t that the sad truth? Sam had nothing. Dean didn’t know him, would never know him. So what the fuck was he doing?

The art book was thrown in his lap. Sam scowled at the older man, who just jerked his chin towards the book. “What?”

“Look at it. It’s his therapy art.”

Wasn’t that a violation of privacy? “Wait a minut-“

“I said look at it.”

Sam opened the book. And came face to face with his own face bright and bold in what looked like crayons.

What?

He traced his profile. That was definitely him.

“Look at the next page.”

It was him. In colour, in black and white. Paint, charcoal, ink, pastels. Each and every page was him.

“He doesn’t draw in a book. It’s single pieces of paper. I mean, every lesson is the first isn’t it? So it’d be weird to have a book full of shit. But for the past… five? Six weeks? It’s you. It’s all you.”

A heavy silence settled between the two men, before John bit out, “So what the fuck is so special about you that he remembers something?”

Sam’s voice was hoarse with suppressed tears. “I don’t know, sir. I honestly don’t know. But I want to be there to find out. Will you… Will you help me?”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4