04: Remember the Alamo

Fandom: Supernatural

Category/Rated: Gen

Year/Length:2007/~7585 words

Pairing: Sam and Dean

Disclaimer: No profit was made off this. The characters belong the originators of Supernatural. Was all in pure fun.

Warning: Wincest

Summary: The boys to go the Alamo. However Sam has other motives for going there.

Series: Supernatural Virtual Slash Season 3

Beta: ailurophile6 for which much thanks.

The Impala roared down the road. Dean was driving fast, having fun on the empty back roads. Trees zipped by them, and the landscape was a blur of color as they passed. The windows were wound down to let the air circle through the car, and the sound of the wind of their passing was a roar in their ears. The radio was cranked high for some lame radio show Sam wanted to listen to so he wouldn't be tortured by Dean's music, and it rattled the speakers.

"Dude, we're going to San Antonio!" Dean was grinning, shouting to be heard above all the other noise. "Hey think we can catch a Spurs game? Oh, I want to see the Alamo. That is such... history. Remember the story Dad told us about the Colt? It's tied to that. And I want to go down the River..."

Dean looked at the radio as a newsreader began announcing that there had been a fire at the Space Center, believed to be a kids' prank, and that one of the suits had been vandalized during the evacuation. Police, they reported, were looking for two suspects.

Dean didn't have to look over at Sam to know the expression on his face.

It was tough for Sam. Dean was having such a good time that he didn't want to spoil it, but Sam was worried that they'd been identified, and he could almost smell the FBI on their tail. He rolled his eyes as he shot a reproving look at his brother. "We didn't cause any real damage," he said softly. "We did what we had to and no more. I hope that the spaceman's at rest now."

Yawning and stretching, Sam patted his pocket again. The information that Ashley had given him would soon be put into effect, and his search to save Dean from losing his soul at the end of the year would be underway. "You know," he murmured. "I'm glad we gave the Colt to Bobby. If anyone can get it recharged and working as a demon killer, it's Bobby."

Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing from his brother. There was no scolding, no telling him it was a bad idea, none of that. He was surprised, not sure if it was a good surprise or not. Looking back out the window as AC/DC blared over the radio, Dean rubbed his forehead and pushed his sunglasses up so he could stare at the road.

He glanced at Sam, wondering what had suddenly made his brother bring up the Colt. "Okay, sounds good, and, yeah, Bobby's the guy to do it. "But I wanna see the Alamo first, then we'll take the road out to see Bobby and find out how he's doin' with it." He paused. It had suddenly occurred to him that maybe he'd like to go back to Lawrence, stop and see... He drew a breath... their mother's grave.

"You got that right, dude," smiled Sam. "The Alamo is first. There are a whole bunch of exciting things about the Alamo. Oh, and then there's the Riverwalk. We need to go down there, too, you know. It sounds like just the place for you." He tapped his fingers on the dash as the music blared, looking contented as he took in the relaxed smile on his brother's face. "Then we can make our way back up country to Bobby's place, if you like. I think the Colt might be able to kill hellhounds as well as demons, so we need to get it working."

Dean nodded with a smile. His brother was thinking the same way he would. That was good. His brother was growing up and into this gig. Though sadly for Dean, that could prove to be too little, too late. But at least he had seen his brother grow, and was watching him grow even now, grow into being a possible leader in this war. Leader... why did that word make him shiver a little?

The Demon.

He'd wanted Sam to be the leader of his army. Well, not this time, demon! Sammy was gonna be on the good side, fighting that army. It was the way it HAD to be.

Dean pulled into a motel outside of the City, getting them a room in the back where they could unpack some of their stuff and freshen up. Dean was pretty much bouncing on his heels. Sam was in the bathroom, still making himself presentable, but Dean was impatient. "Sammy, let's roll. C'mon, we'll go get some Mexican food, drink a little beer on the Riverwalk and then head to the Alamo, before they close. Shake a leg, bro." he shouted from the door.

Sam flipped him off around the door of the bathroom, but he did hurry, pulling on a fresh T-shirt before emerging at last. "Dude, did anyone ever tell you before that you're a first class nag?" He shrugged into his over-shirt and stood with his hands on his hips, gazing at his brother. Dean's sunburn had faded, leaving in its wake a galaxy of freckles, and a flush of tan that made him look so beautiful that Sam was surprised into a gasp, momentarily stunned.

Collecting his thoughts, he swallowed and smiled. "Ready, dude. Let's go do the whole tourist experience."

"And no more cases. I want the whole tourist experience without the putting spirits to rest thing. Whatever it is, we can let it rest," Dean nodded and turned to head out, though the burn of his brother's eyes upon him, the way Sam stared at him, was still tingling inside him. There had been something in Sam's gaze - the sort of look that he rarely saw from his brother. He thought he'd only spotted that heated intensity from his little brother on two occasions, once when he'd seen Sam look at Madison that last evening, and again when he'd been dancing with Ashley. And that raised a question that made him frown. How come Sam got all the hot chicks?

Moments later, the Impala was roaring down the streets of San Antonio. It took Sam's GPS for them to find the location and a few more minutes to get a parking space, but once they were parked, the two of them trotted down the set of stairs that led to the Riverwalk. Dean was bouncing with excitement, and soon the smell of the river, food and beer, and the sounds of music and dancing filled their senses. Dean smacked his hands together. "Party time," he grinned, looking back at Sam.

The happiness on Dean's face was enough for Sam. He was tingling with the need to find whatever it was that Ashley had hinted at, but for now he would indulge his brother and watch the way he radiated sheer joy of living. "Where to first, oh master?" he smirked. "Food or bar or both together? I'd suggest dancing, but, after Ashley, I know that you don't dance."

"You know I don't dance, dude," Dean was walking along as he spoke, peering into shops, taking in the sounds and scents as people passed. He moved aside as a girl passed between them, turning to check her out before turning his attention back to Sam. "I want food, beer, everything," he announced. He made for a cantina that was ahead of them, pausing in the entrance to study the menu before he entered. "This looks good," he murmured, smiling as a cute girl showed them to a table. It was a Mexican style place, and the smell of fajitas filled the air, making the brothers salivate.

He took his seat, pulled the menu to him, and made a pleased sound in the back of his throat. "Dude, they have my favorite beer. Del Sol! Oh and I want fajitas. Both chicken and beef. What you want?"

"I'll have the same." Sam smiled at the waitress and settled back into his seat, watching Dean. "You know what, man, you seem like a different person lately. It's so great to see you like this, I can't tell you." He muttered a word of thanks to the waitress when she returned with their beers and leaned forward to touch Dean's hand. "What did it, man? What changed you? You seem happier than I've seen you since before I left for Stanford."

Dean felt relaxed and hyper all at once, if that were possible, but when he heard his brother's words, he tipped his head, considering, and then gave a little sigh. There was too much electricity going from Sam's hand to his, and he pulled it away, unaccountably discomfited. "I've had a weight lifted off me. And it's... kind of freeing. And I just..." he gave a shrug and took a drink of his beer. "It's like before, when we were kids. Well, you don't remember, but I never used to worry too much about the next day and what might happen. I didn't really worry about the nights, and when dad was coming home. Everything was simple... I was... just a kid. Not a care in the world. It feels sort of like that."

"Keep on feeling like that," whispered Sam, feeling tears prick the back of his eyes. "Don't ever forget that you can rely on me. You don't ever have to carry everything on your shoulders alone again, dude. I'm here for you."

He shuffled his feet uneasily, knowing exactly how much of a chick-flick moment he'd exposed his brother to and wondering if Dean would clam up and become surly again. "The fajitas smell awesome," he murmured, grinning. "And I don't know about you, but I'm starving." He twirled his bottle around in his hand before raising it to his lips. "I kinda like the idea of taking a break from all the fear. We've been through it, haven't we?"

Dean looked at his brother. It had been his one job throughout the whole of his life. Take care of Sammy; keep him safe no matter what. And he had. He'd done everything without question. Under the table, he curled his legs around one of Sam's and gave him a squeeze, "I know, but you know I always will." He lifted his beer to his lips too, emulating Sam without thinking. "All the times I've told you that, and it's taken 'til now for you to listen." He chuckled as he teased his brother.

The beaming smile that Sam bestowed on Dean would have been enough to light the room. He lifted his bottle in a silent toast and put it to his mouth again, tipping his head back to drain it. ""So no exorcisms, unquiet spirits or shapeshifters then, dude. We'll ignore them all." He paused, then grinned back at Dean. "Unless they're really hot, okay? If they're really hot we'll let them in for an audition, ok?"

Dean chuckled again and nodded, "Deal." He took a slug of his beer just as their waitress appeared to take their order. Dean ordered the dinner for two and then started talking to Sam about past jobs, laughs they had shared, his conversation light-hearted. He felt free, relaxed, as if there was no longer any pressure on him. For once, he felt like he could actually breathe. All the while, he gazed at his brother, his smile, his laugh, and the way Sam's lips twitched or his eyes gleamed with amusement. It was really hard to keep from staring, but he forced himself.

They pigged out on chips, salsa, queso, and, of course, their fajitas, At the end, Dean was full, satisfied, and very content. "Okay, let's walk around a while, get rid of this food baby, and then we can go to the Alamo."

A tingle of excitement ran through Sam as he realized that they were going to go and find the clue Ashley had given him for real. "You got it, dude," he murmured, rising to his feet and pushing his plate away.

Once outside, they ambled down the Riverwalk, watching the tour boats float past, crammed with tourists, passing by bars and restaurants, a movie theater with an Aztec theme, and a host of gift shops that sold fancy Mexican and Indian crafts. Stopping at one store, Sam spotted a bracelet of tiny skulls carved from bone and bought it, handing it to Dean with a grin. "Here, Dean. This suits you. They all look just like you, don't you think? It's the smile."

Dean admired the bracelet and gave a laugh, pulling it on next to the one he was already wearing. "Hey, they sort of match, don't you think?" he asked, admiring the way they looked. He ordinarily didn't wear things just for decoration. Each of the adornments he had on had some sort of meaning. Most of them offered some sort of protection, but this was a bracelet he would treasure merely because it had been gifted to him by Sam.

He'd found something for Sam as well and paid for it, then handed it over, still in its bag. It was a cross with angel wings behind it. "Here, I know I said I don't believe in that, but I know you do." He gave Sam a small grin. "And it doesn't look too girly."

Flushing with pleasure, Sam smiled at his brother and put it around his neck, wanting to hug his brother, but knowing that it wouldn't be welcome. "Not girly is good, dude. Thanks. I like it." Together they moved on through the throngs of tourists and shoppers. As the afternoon drew on he suddenly turned to Dean, who was studying an ice-cream vendor. "We should go check out the Alamo right now, man. It'll be too late if we wait much longer."

As had become his habit, he patted the pocket with Ashley's precious notes in it.

Dean nodded, glancing at his watch, "Okay, let's go back to the car, see if we can make our way over and find a parking space." Dean hated cities and their traffic, but at least, down south, things were not so tightly crammed into a small area the way they were in the East coast in cities like New York. As the pair reached the car, they headed to the Alamo. Parking again after the five minute drive, Dean was bright eyed and eager again. "Dude, this is gonna rock. We get to see, touch and smell history."

"You're damned right it's gonna rock." Sam was bouncing in his seat as they drew up beside the old fort. "We don't have a lot of time, do we? What time do they close? Maybe we can check it out and come back later if the security isn't too bad." He unfurled his length from the car and stretched. "Come on; let's go see Davy Crockett's wild front ear."

Making for the ticket office, Sam found enough cash to pay for their entry and together the two of them went into the fort.

Dean glanced at Sam wondering why he'd said what he had. "Why would we want to come back later if the security isn't too bad? If we run out of time, oh well." He frowned, wondering what his brother was up to, but soon forgot in the rush to get in and explore the museum. Upon first entering, Dean slowed down, studying the small building that had once been a mission. It had seen so much bravery, so much death. Hundreds of men had died here, and Dean could only imagine the spiritual activity that existed around this place.

He glanced at Sam and then picked a direction down the stone walk, moving around the center lawn until they reached the entrance. Upon entering, there was nothing to distinguish it from other old buildings, but even so Dean still felt a sense of awe. He was drawn to one particular area where there was a display of flags indicating all the territories and states that had fought in the historic battle. Dean was surprised at one that stood out. "Hey look, the Canadian flag. Who would've thunk?" He moved on to one of the displays, looking in at the guns, appraising them.

"See anything you like?" Sam had moved to stand behind him, and was checking the weapons out on his own behalf. "I half expect to see a demon-killing colt or something. It feels... I don't know how to describe it properly... old - powerful - like there's something here that could help us somehow." He indicated a flintlock rifle and smiled. "We don't have one of those in the car. Think we should get one?"

Turning his attention to the knives, he admired a particularly beautiful Bowie knife that was labeled as having been made by Daniel Searles and owned by one of the Bowie brothers. "Wouldn't mind one like that," he murmured. "Would likely be more useful if it was silver, though."

Dean shook his head at the gun, not saying a word but merely drinking everything in. The feel of history was all around them, pressing on him. He felt like a little kid again and very humble as well. Moving over to check out the display of knives he nodded. "I think back then, same as now, not too many people knew what was really out there. If they had, I suspect we would find a lot more pure silver and wrought iron knives in peoples' possession." The case held his attention for a little while before migrating to another area where there were little metal plaques with inscriptions on them. He paused to read every one as he made his way around.

Meanwhile, Sam had taken Ashley's paper out of his pocket and was reading it again, even though he knew what it said by heart by this time. He was anxious to find the jacket that Ashley had identified, so that he could grab the papers that he needed. Refolding it and stowing it back into his pocket, he went to check on Dean, standing silently in the doorway as he watched his brother with his heart full of love. If only he and Dean could have grown up this way, and Dean could have been the happy, charming man that occasionally appeared. Sam would have given anything to have that.

"Where're the uniforms and stuff. I want to see them." He stepped forward at last to join his brother. "There's so much here. We need a whole day to see it all."

"I think they're in one of the back rooms somewhere, behind one of the cases," Dean gestured, distracted as he read one of the plaques. He sighed softly. "I wish dad had brought us to places like this," he muttered. "I have to be dying in order to see them." He turned and walked past Sam.

"Now listen to me, Dean," growled Sam, grabbing Dean by the shoulder and turning him back to face him. "You are so not dying. You will not die, if I have even half a chance to save you. You got that?" He sighed and let go of Dean's shoulder. "Why can't you get it into your head that it isn't going to happen. I'm gonna get you out of this, now see if I don't."

He coughed, then turned himself to go to the next room. "Now I want to see the uniforms and stuff. Let's go."

Dean just looked after his brother and sighed. "Sam, it's just not gonna happen. We try and do anything, you will be dead. That's that. And I'd much rather die than you." He gave a little snort. "It'll give my life meaning." He knew that Sam wasn't going to give up, even though it felt as though he, Dean, had.

He followed Sam over to the uniforms, seeming less interested now. He'd plunged his hands deep into his pockets, and he was looking down, moody now, his good mood a memory.

"Your life already has meaning!" Sam sounded outraged. "What about all the people you've saved? What about all the folks that would have died if not for you? If ever there was anyone whose life had meaning, it's you." Tears pricked Sam's eyes as he spoke, and he bit his lip as he tried to think of any way to make Dean understand. "Look, Dean, I know all that about me dropping dead. I know it, but my life won't be worth a damned thing if you aren't there to watch my back. What the hell do you want me to do? Leap on my horse and ride off into the sunset over your dead body? Because I won't do it. Wherever you go, I'm going with you. Put that in your pipe and smoke it!"

Dean just looked at his brother, "Yeah, I want you to do just that. Because if you don't, you make my one last heroic act... mean nothing. I'd rather be down there, being tortured, because I'd know deep inside me that you're still here, still fighting the good fight. Hell, dude, I want you to hook back up with Ashley, have some pretty kids." He drew a deep breath. "So just stop, okay? I just want to enjoy the time I have left." With that, he turned and walked away.

Standing, watching his brother go, Sam felt his heart clench and thump painfully. Dean was being... himself, Sam supposed. His brother was intractable, and it had always been his way or the highway. "Well, Dean Winchester," he muttered, clutching his anger to himself. "We'll see about that. This time, I'm gonna get my way, and if I get the lucky charms, you get the prize, cos that's how it works in this outfit."

Striding off towards the clothing exhibit, Sam finally found himself face to face with the item he'd been seeking. Daniel Boone's jacket was made of undyed kid, and heavily fringed. He stood looking at it, wondering if he could just step in and take what he needed. He couldn't see any cameras trained on the stand that was displaying the jacket, and the lock on the cabinet wouldn't take much effort to pick. Looking around to see if there was anyone close, he set to picking the lock.

Dean was looking at souvenirs as Sam contemplated stealing history. He wasn't paying too much attention, because he was studying a set of shot glasses. He could buy these, he thought. That would be wicked. Then he saw a t-shirt and decided to get one each for Sam and himself. He paid for them and then looked around for his brother, wondering where that tall, bean-stalk of a brother of his had gotten to?

A few flicks of Sam's wrist, and the lock was history. Shoving the glass cabinet open, Sam took his knife and slit the lining of the jacket, fumbling for the item Ashley had told him would be there waiting for him. He could hear footsteps and fumbled, madly trying to find what he sought and be gone before any intruder appeared. Suddenly he felt something under his fingers and grabbed, bringing out a small package wrapped in oilskin and stitched closed. Thrusting it into his pocket, he hastily closed the cabinet and stood back as if contemplating the jacket.

Dean came around the corner, leafing through a guide book he'd bought. "Dude, I got you a shirt and this book. Thought you might..." He stopped. Sam had a look on his face - guilt was written on every line and dimple, and it was a look Dean recognized from way back. "Dude, did you fart or something?" he asked, looking around to try and discover what he'd been doing, then back to his brother.

"Huh?" Sam looked at Dean, wide eyed. "What makes you think I did anything?" His eyes slid to the open lock on the cabinet, and he moved away very quickly, hoping to distract Dean, thinking that if he kept talking, Dean might not notice that the case had been disturbed. He flashed one of his brightest grins at his brother. "You bought me a T-shirt? Thanks, Dean. What's the book?"

It seemed to work, "Oh, it's about the Alamo." Dean handed it over, following his brother. "Got pictures too, so it's perfect for me. Figured why the hell not? Maybe there will be something in there about the night Samuel Colt made the gun. Speaking of which, you think Bobby has fixed that thing?"

"I think we should go and find out when we're done here, don't you?" Sam began to leaf through the book, seemingly fascinated by the whole thing. "What else do we want to look at, dude? You pick."

"I want to go check out some bars. Maybe meet some chicks and..." Dean made a little sound. "We can have fun." He smiled and nudged Sam as they left the hall with the jacket behind. "Or we can do what you want to do."

"Jeez, Dean, how do you know what I want to do?" Sam looked cranky as he stalked in front of his brother. "Let's go then. They're going to be closing here soon." He hurried outside, looking as though he really wanted to get away from the place, and only paused to turn once and check that Dean was following him out. "I guess that you don't believe I'm capable of having fun," he snapped.

"I didn't say that," Dean followed. "I just said we can do what you want to do. So far we've done nothing but what I want to do, so I was just putting it out there. We can leave to go see Bobby tomorrow."

"Okay, then," murmured Sam, repenting. "I guess I want to... uh... go back to the River Walk and check out the scene after dark, yeah?" He gave Dean a sideways look full of humor and then licked his finger and wrote his score down on an invisible scoresheet. "Seriously, dude, I want to go and have fun tonight. Live every day as if it could be our last, right?"

"Okay," Dean nodded, "Let's go." He smacked Sam's back. "Cheer up, Sammy. We'll do a few shots and listen to some good music." Dean walked over to the car and opened the door, getting in and flicking open the passenger door. "Let's go partay!"

"You got it, man!" Pouring himself into the passenger's seat, Sam patted his pocket again. He'd be checking out that package, but not until Dean was safely drunk, or off with one of his bimbos and safely out of the way. "Lead me to it. I really could use a beer."

Dean drove them back to the River Walk, and the pair soon found themselves in a bar with beer and shots on the counter in front of them. Dean smiled as he knocked back his shots. "C'mon, Sammy, drink up." He pushed one over to Sam and reached for his beer. The music was loud, people were piling in, and Dean was drinking in the sight of his brother, wishing Sam would get drunk enough that they might... no. He pushed that thought away. Sam would freak and abandon Dean, and that was the last thing he wanted, even if he was going to die.

"You're pushing it a bit far, dude, aren't you?" Sam indicated the shot that was in front of Dean. "Slow down, man, or you're gonna have the mother of a hangover tomorrow." He peered at the shot glass. "What the hell is that stuff, anyway? It's a funny color." He wished that they could take off, or play pool or something, but Dean seemed to be determined to drink himself into a stupor. "Wanna find a different bar?"

"Dude, it's called a buttery nipple. And I'm good." He knocked another shot back and looked around before turning back to Sam. Frowning, he gave Sam a long, appraising look before nodding, "Okay, let's go find a different bar. You lead the way." Dean sank his last shot then motioned for Sam to lead the way.

They wandered down the River Walk again, Sam keeping an eye on his brother, who seemed to be more than a little under the influence. "Be careful you don't wind up in the river, man. We've already done the falling in the water thing once. Anything more would be overkill."

They made their way through the throng of people, and as they went they heard music. Approaching the sound, they found a bar named Howl at the Moon. Looking at Dean with a smirk, Sam raised his eyebrows. "What do you think, dude? You wanna go in?"

Dean had grabbed Sam's arm and was already pulling him towards it. "Dude, with a name like that we have to investigate. Let's hope there are no werewolves." He entered the bar, towing Sam in after him. "Let's see you shake that money maker and draw all the girls to ya."

"It's your turn for the girl, isn't it? I just had one." Sam laughed, shaking his head as Dean hauled him relentlessly towards the sound of the music. Someone was playing raunchy blues on the piano, and a couple of young women were singing harmonies in hoarse, whiskey voices, and Sam gave a whoop. "I think I'm gonna like this place," he said, laughing. "You wanna sing a little?"

"Dude, I can't sing, and I'm not drunk enough," Dean answered. He didn't answer Sam about it being his turn to find a girl. He'd seen one or two that would ordinarily have interested him, but he didn't seem in the mood this night. He just wanted to enjoy the music, drink and be with his brother. He reflected back to the night with Sam and Ashley, recalling how sexy the two had looked together. And the way they'd looked drinking those blow jobs. The way their mouths wrapped around the glasses... He moved restlessly, adjusting himself as the memories floated up. "You sing, I'll watch," he said.

"Ain't gonna get any drunker unless you say we can cab it back to the motel." Sam ordered a couple bottles of beer from the bartender and then looked around them, taking in the sheer excitement of the place. "We can both sing," said Sam, laughing. "I even know this song." He raised his beer to his lips and took a swallow, then leaned back against the bar, shoulder pressing against Dean's. "So you see any tempting booty out there?" he asked, trying to spot a girl that he thought might appeal to Dean. "What about that one?" He indicated a very pretty, dark haired girl wearing ultra tight, short shorts, whose midriff was exposed, sitting beside one of the pianos, beating time on it with her glass as the song continued. "That's your type, right there. What're you waiting for?"

Dean's attention was less on the girl than the fact Sam was pressing his shoulder to his own. It was tempting and close. He wanted to feel more but he just drank of his beer. "Yeah, she is." he answered after a while. He had to stop thinking about his brother. "Okay, here, you can drive us home." Dean dug into his pocket and pulled the keys out, slapping them into Sam's hand. He smiled at his brother. "And if I have a hangover, you can just drive us while I sleep," he said, smirking at his brother.

Sighing gustily, Sam smiled back and tilted his head towards his brother. "And exactly what did your last servant die of?" he inquired, sweetly, but he pocketed the keys to the Impala and relaxed, twirling his beer in his hand as he turned his frank gaze onto Dean, taking in the thick lashes and full lips and wishing that he dared lean in and lick his way inside that mouth. "You have a hangover, and I'll make sure you get the greasy eggs and bacon you deserve."

"Hey, I won't be worshiping the porcelain god. That's you and your weak stomach," He patted Sam there as he turned to the bar to order another shot, already feeling a deep buzz washing over him.

Grinning, Sam bumped Dean's shoulder and settled back to peel the label off his half empty beer bottle as he watched the antics in the bar. The girls had launched into a soulful version of "House of the Rising Sun," and several couples were dancing between the piano and the bar. Sam could feel the little packet in his pocket as if it was burning a hole in his leg, and he wondered if he dared take off to the bathroom to open it up and read the contents. Sighing softly, he gritted his teeth and refused to give in to his urgent desire to see what he had recovered; instead, he turned his eyes to his brother, studying the handsome profile and wishing things could be different.

"Hey, dude, do you ever wonder what it would've been like, if I was a girl instead of a guy?" he asked Dean, suddenly.

Dean turned his head towards his brother slowly, looking at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Dude, if you were a girl I think I would go nuts. You already PMS bad enough as it is!" And Sam as a girl would be even harder for Dean to resist. The whole concept was too scary to think about.

"Oh, funny!" Sam snorted in annoyance. He watched Dean looking around the bar and wished that he could find some way of getting his brother out of his mind. He looked around, trying to see if there was a girl that he liked the look of, but he ended up shrugging his shoulders and turning to his brother. "I think I'm too old for this. Why can't I get excited by booze and women the way you do, dude?"

Dean gave a shrug. "Beats me. Maybe you don't practice enough." Dean turned back to look into Sam's eyes, and he was so tempted to lean in and kiss him. He sighed, grabbed his drink and swigged it, then pushed from the bar and headed over toward the closest group of women. "Hey ladies. Looks like you could use a man," he announced. Despite the hostility such a remark should have garnered, soon enough the women were clustered around him, flirting, smiling, enjoying the thought that he desired them.

That was better. Sam leaned back against the bar, nursing his beer, watching Dean run through his practiced moves and admiring the easy way he did things. One little blonde snuggled up against his side as a taller brunette raised a sardonic eyebrow at him, evidently not needing a man as much as Dean thought. Laughing and shaking his head, Sam turned to study the rest of the room, wondering how long it would be before Dean would want the keys to the Impala back.

It was a couple of minutes before he suddenly remembered the packet he had in his pocket. Setting his half empty beer down, he headed for the bathroom to take a look at his prize.

Dean was having a good time, flirting with the brunette to try and win her over to his dubious charms. He had his arm around the blonde and was laughing softly at her companion's aloof disapproval. When he looked back at the bar, he didn't see Sam there. He frowned, wondering where his brother had gone. He would look again in a few moments. He hoped that Sam hadn't gotten bored and gone back to the motel. He really wasn't in the mood to hook up tonight, despite his flirting.

Meanwhile, Sam had found an empty stall and was busily employed, carefully picking open the packet he'd stolen. The oilskin was stitched together, and he picked the stitches out with his knife, then eagerly unfolded the closely written papers it contained. His heart sank, because he didn't seem to be able to read it.

Sure, it started off easily enough, in a florid script that offered, 'Thee solution to the freeing of the soule,' but unfortunately that was where clarity ended, and Sam wanted to punch the cubicle wall in frustration. The next section was written in a language he didn't know, and only the final paragraph, which talked about 'wearing a crystal', was in plain English. He wanted to cry, but instead he refolded the papers, tucked them back into their packet and went back out to his brother. Who knew? Maybe Bobby would be able to read the script. He hoped so.

Dean was off in one of the corners with the brunette now, and she was kissing him. He was apparently enjoying it, giving her slow sensual kisses, one after the other. He pulled back slowly from her when he saw Sam coming out of the bathroom, then leaned in, kissing her again, making a show of the kiss, as if trying to prove to Sam that he hadn't lost his touch.

Sam could have sworn that Dean was a throw-back to some Winchester who sold bridges to speculators, because where Sam saw conversation as a key, a tool to open doors and connect with someone, Dean was different. He attacked conversations as if he had a bridge for sale and needed to offload it before the sheriff ran him out of town. He battered the senses with his smart-alec humor, his confidence and his promises, using his words like weapons as he laid siege to the latest of his long line of conquests. He didn't so much connect as assimilate, and Sam never failed to be unwillingly impressed as he watched his brother work his magic on his prey. Now was no exception, and he lounged and watched, sick with jealousy at the sight of Dean's mouth on the brunette's, counting the minutes 'til he could be out of there.

Dean pulled back, whispering something to her, and she laughed as her hand rested against his chest. Then she pulled him down, kissed him again, and walked away. Dean ran his tongue over his lips and watched her walk away to join her girlfriends, finally leaving with them. Dean walked back over to Sam and smacked him on his arm. "Ready to head out?" He drank down the rest of his beer and looked expectantly at his brother.

"More than ready." Sam frowned. "You mean you're not gonna hang around and spread a little joy along with your genes?" He scratched his head as he pondered this strange turn of events. Draining the beer he'd been nursing since Dean had given him his keys, he turned to head out. "You okay, or you need to hang onto my arm, dude?"

Dean made for the door, Sam beside him as they squeezed through bodies to work their way toward the exit. He glanced at his brother, and smirked cockily. "Dude, I'm not a girl. You are the girl, and I'm fine." He knew it was baffling Sam as to why he wasn't saying he would see him in the morning, while he stayed to sow his oats in the back seat of some girl's car or her place of residence. It was just that this night, for some reason, Dean didn't want to leave his brother's side. Perhaps it was seeing Sam as he was, happy, light hearted, with a gleam about him and a flavor that tasted like hope.

Upon reaching the car, Dean slid in on the passenger side, yawning. "Let's get back and get some sleep. I want to get an early start tomorrow." He nodded as he closed his eyes, wanting to nap on the ride back to the motel.

"You got it, dude," murmured Sam, letting in the clutch and pulling out of the parking lot. He frowned, looking at Dean from the corner of his eyes. "What was wrong with the girl? She didn't look like a female impersonator or anything. She didn't measure up to your impossibly high standards, or what?"

He smirked as he watched Dean shift in place, and then made up his mind to ask the question burning in his mind. He needed to see Missouri. She was the only person Sam could think of who might be able to shed light on the papers he'd recovered from the Alamo. "Uh, Dean...? Do you know where we're going to go next?"

Dean only hesitated for a fraction of a second, because he had been thinking about it for a while. He wanted to go back to Kansas. He wanted to say goodbye to his mom. He wanted... he didn't know what he wanted because it was just a need, something deep inside him that had burned since he was a child, and now that time was just not on his side any more...

Sam would think it strange, since the last time they'd been there, he wouldn't even go near their mother's headstone. To Dean it had just seemed too final, and he hadn't been ready to let go, til now. "Let's go see Bobby, maybe go through Lawrence one..." He was gonna say one last time but that would just upset Sam. "Once we get to Kansas."

"You mean go home?" Sam turned to look at Dean for a moment, eyebrows raised. "Wow, Dean, you read minds now or what?" He smiled as he reached to pat Dean's arm. "I was just thinking that I'd like to go back to Lawrence. Wanna talk to Missouri about something. That be okay with you?"

A sudden thought struck him. He's saying goodbye, isn't he? Sam felt a cold shiver rattle through him. "But you...? Why do you want to go? Are you okay, dude?"

Dean brushed Sam's hand away like he had something on it, "Keep your cooties to your side of the car. Bad enough I have to spray it in the morning." It was a tease, but it was also a way to keep from answering Sam. "If you're gonna talk to Missouri about me, it's not gonna help. I told you what would happen, and I'm not gonna let that happen. I was just thinking, though, I'd kind of like to see if that apartment I lived in was real. Or was it made up like the girl, Carmen? You know, when the djinn attacked me?" There, that should shut Sam up.

"You're going to look for that Carmen?" A wide grin stole over Sam's face. "Jeez, dude! I don't think you'll find her, but wouldn't it be a rush if you did." He pulled into the motel parking lot as he was speaking and drew up outside their door. Bringing the Impala to a halt, he turned to face his brother. "Listen, Dean. Of everything I could wish in the world, I wish that she were real, and that you could find her. You deserve her, man." Suddenly overcome with a sense of grief that his brother had lost everything, he couldn't say anything else, he just clambered out of the car and went to open the door to their room.

Dean watched him go. He knew Carmen wasn't real of course. She'd just been a girl from an ad he'd seen in a magazine. Well, real, just not in Lawrence. However, he couldn't think of her with any kind of regret, because, as his brother was speaking, he was staring at those lips, wanting to urge them close and kiss him. He wanted it so much and yet, when Sam pulled back and turned away, he knew it was a good thing, and saved him from doing so himself.

He climbed out of the car and headed for their room, tossing aside his jacket, toeing off his shoes, distributing his shirt and t-shirt onto any horizontal surface handy. Pulling off his jeans, Dean threw himself onto his bed, getting under the covers. "Night, Sammy." He yawned. "Shut off the light, and no looking at late night porn." He shoved his hand under the pillow and dropped his head onto it, closing his eyes.

"Yeah, right," growled Sam, getting himself ready for bed in a rather more leisurely way and then lounging, propped up on one elbow to watch his brother get comfortable. Don't need to look at porn. All I have to do is look at you, Dean! He sighed heavily and shook his head, trying to shake off thoughts of Dean and how it would feel to press against him, snuggled down against his pillow.

He turned out the light and lay still, trying to fall asleep, but images of Dean kissing the girl in the bar, of him lying right there alongside him, wouldn't go away, and eventually he sighed again, got up and went to the bathroom to relieve himself, hoping that Dean was really asleep. Gasping out his orgasm a short time later, it wasn't Jessica, or Ashley who floated up inside his mind, but his brother. Heading back to his bed once he was done, he lay down again, moodily wondering what would happen if he just climbed into bed alongside Dean and put an end to the suspense. "Fuck," he gritted and turned on his side to wait for morning.

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