Graveyard Digger, Coffin Case Sinner

In The Press of Every Kiss

[Summary: Sam flirts with someone else, & Dean doesn't like it. At all.]

"'Cause I'd do anything you want me to... for you.
I'll do anything for you,
Kill anyone for you."
-Coheed and Cambria

It was 12 a.m. and the 16 year old was standing outside of a sketchy-looking bar. He stopped outside the door, debating on whether he should attempt to enter. He didn't look old enough to get in and he knew it, but sometimes he got lucky.

He made it through the door but was halted several feet from it by a bouncer who was 6' 5", if he was an inch. "Whoa there, kid," the big man stepped in front of him, "I don't think you're old enough to be in here. Gotta see some ID."

Sam Winchester shoved his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans, shoulders slumping slightly, and gave the big man a sheepish smile. "I'm not," he admitted over the music playing, "I was looking for my big brother. I locked myself out of our room and I think he's in here some place. I just need his key."

The bouncer stared at him for a moment, before asking, "What's his name?"
"Dean Smith," Sam gave the cover name they were using currently, "He's tall – not as tall as you though – short brown hair. Um.. maybe wearing a leather jacket?"

The man nodded and said, "Alright. Wait right here. I mean it. I don't wanna catch you one step further inside this bar. Wait. Right. Here."
Sam nodded in agreement and raised two fingers in a 'v' sign. "Scout's honor," he promised.
The bouncer shot him another glance before turning and disappearing into the dimly-lit bar.

Sam was studying the pictures hanging near the door when he heard, "Sammy?" He turned and found his brother standing behind him. The big bouncer was standing just behind Dean: the man nodded to him – Sam shot him a grateful smile – before moving into the shadows near the entrance.

"What are you doing here?"
Sam raised his eyes to his brother at the other's question. Dean took hold of his arm and pulled him through the front entrance/exit: the music faded as they stepped outside and the door closed behind them.

"Hi, Dean," he greeted his brother, looking up at the other.
"What are you doing here?" Dean repeated; he was scowling at him now, hands shoved in his jacket pockets.
Sam shrugged a shoulder as he averted his gaze, a pout on his lips. "Wanted to see if you were still mad at me."
"I told you to stay in the room."

The teenager raised his eyes to his brother, studying him. Dean glanced back at the bar's door before turning green eyes back to him. Sam crossed his arms over his chest, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment, before asking, "Did you come here to pick someone up?"

"Is that your business?" the man retorted, scowling at him again.
Sam shrugged, and Dean shot, "Yeah, maybe I did, Sam. Now go back to the room."

It was Sam's turn to scowl as he spat, "Fine." He turned to walk away from his brother, but was pulled to a halt as Dean reached out and grabbed his arm.

"I mean it, Sam," his brother warned, "Go back to the room."

"'Course, Dean," he shot his brother a smile that was anything but sincere, "Not like I'm gonna go pick anyone up and take them home with me." With that, he jerked his arm free of his brother's grip and headed down the sidewalk.

"I'm not fucking around, Sam!" Dean called after him, anger tracing his voice.

Sam shrugged without turning to look at his brother and crossed the empty street. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Dean entering the bar again, and raised a hand to flip him off. Even if his brother didn't see the gesture, it made him feel a little better.

Sixteen kills. Sixteen kills his brother had made since they had begun to travel on the road two years ago, the Impala and whatever cheap rooms they stopped at their homes. Sam kept a mental track of them, and a physical one in a small notebook (though he labeled those as "landmarks visited" with cities, towns and rest areas written in a code only he knew – he wasn't daft enough to write down actual details that could be used as evidence).