Dropping in for a moment
I have finally finished the Steve and Dean friends fic. I'm not sure how I feel about it, but, it's done. I guess that's all there is to say about it *g*
Author: Ranua
Title: The Nights Make Up For It
Rating: Teen for language
Fandom: Supernatural crossed with Kane RPF
Disclaimer: None of this is real and I'm making no profit and no claims to legitimacy.
Word Count: 6,400
Warning/Notes: Don't think there's anything to warn about. The story starts pre-series Supernatural. Just hand wave away any time line issues please. It takes place in my Gimme a Double universe with In a Honky-Tonk Somewhere and Who We Really Are. It actually takes place before Honky-Tonk, but you don't have to read one to get the other.
Summery: Steve Carlson and Dean Winchester meet and bitch about their lives.
&*&*&*&*&*&*&
Steve hadn't been too sure about coming so far north of their usual L.A. club circuit, but Chris had been certain northern California with it's hippie reputation would be starved for their kind of country music. They'd had the opening slot for a local house band and the crowd had totally been into them. Whatever Chris' reasoning he'd been right on the money.
It wasn't enough for Steve to forgive him for messing up his night though. Instead of stretching out on the motel bed he'd been looking forward too, he was sitting at the bar, nursing a beer. Damn Christian for taking some little bit of fluff back to the room. It was crash in the cab of the truck, Will's camper with the other guys (and if three was crowded, four was a nightmare), or sit it out at the bar, hoping something would come along.
He's feeling sorry for himself, letting the sounds of a night winding down lull him into accepting his fate, when this, can not be legal, kid collapses on the stool next to him; all loose limbs and baby-face, spiky hair with an 'I know I'm all that' smirk twisting his lips.
The bartender gives him the fish-eye as he wanders to their end of the bar. With a put-upon sigh the kid pulls out his wallet, sliding out his I.D.
'Fuckin' tired of this, gonna be 23 in a couple-a months,' the kid grumbles.
The bartender examines the I.D., never letting up the stink eye. It must pass muster because he slides it back to the kid with a 'What'll ya have?'
'Whatever's on tap that's not light beer,' is the answer.
'Ya know,' Steve says, amusement at the kids grumbling coloring his voice, 'maybe a little stubble could help out. Give you that rugged look, make you look a little older.'
'Maybe,' the kid, well, not really a kid at 22 to Steve's 25, turns an assessing eye on him.
Dean gives the guy next to him the once over. He looks like a reject from a surfer movie, all blond hair, unbuttoned shirt displaying tanned skin with layers of necklaces; bracelets and rings in silver and turquoise adorning wrists and hands. Maybe a cross between a surfer and a hippie he amends. Not what you'd expect in a roadhouse like this. Harmless looking though, and that's what mattered.
He had used the excuse of checking into rumors of vampires to come to Santa Clara. It just so happened Stanford was nearby and he'd been able to check-up on Sammy too. He was a little depressed at how well it looked like his brother was doing without him. He's proud of him though, Winchesters don't need help doing great things after all.
'So,' Steve starts talking again, he's bored and a little cranky, any distraction is a good distraction, 'did ya see the show?'
'Show?' Dean raises an eyebrow. 'There was a show?'
Steve gets the feeling there's a wealth of perverted meaning in the tone of voice the younger man uses. 'Live music,' Steve clarifies, 'my band played the opening slot.'
Dean perks up a little, he loves live music, even crappy roadhouse bands can be a good time. 'What kinda band?'
'Country,' Steve replies
'No shit,' Dean looks him up and down, 'you don't look like any country band guy I've ever seen.'
Laughing, Steve answers, 'Yeah, I know. You should see Christian. Now, that boy is country.'
'Whadda ya play then?' Dean asks.
'I'm a guitarist.' Steve answers, motioning for another beer, they go down fast when he's got someone to talk to.
'Why're you sitting here alone then?' Dean gestures to the lack of people at the bar. 'Shouldn't you have some groupie hanging off ya?'
'Not really in the mood,' Steve shrugs. 'I'd rather be stretched out on my way to sleep 'bout now.'
Taking a long drink of his beer, Dean asks, 'So, why the hell are you sitting here?'
'Ah,' Steve laughs some more, and Dean likes that the guy laughs so much, so low and soft, like the whole world is a joke that he enjoys. 'Christian picked up some little piece of fluff and kicked me outta the room 'fore I had a chance to get comfy.'
'Dude, that's harsh.' Dean's been sharing a room for years and never kicked Sammy out over a girl. You went to the girls place if you wanted privacy.
'So, what are you doing here then if you weren't here for our show?' Steve asks
Dean sees no reason to lie, besides he likes to brag on Sammy, 'Visiting my brother at Stanford.'
'That's cool,' Steve sips at his new beer. 'Never got the college thing myself.'
'Yeah, me neither,' Dean agrees. 'Sammy though, he's always been so damned smart. Got a full ride.' He's practically beaming with fraternal pride.
'Damn,' Steve whistles, 'that's pretty cool.'
'Yeah,' they trail off into silence, sipping their beers and watching the t.v. behind the bar.
Dean's not in the mood to listen to his own thoughts though, so he starts up the conversation again. 'Why country music? You really don't look the type.'
'That would be because of Christian.' There's more of that low soft laugh. 'He's my best friend and the reason I'm in a band and not in a kitchen somewhere.'
At Dean's questioning look he elaborates. 'I went to culinary school and was working my way up through the kitchen at a high end restaurant. That's where I met Chris. He was waiting tables while trying to get his break as an actor. We hit it off, found out we had music in common, decided to start a band, and here we are,' he spreads his hands as though to encompass the whole bar. 'Touring the west coast trying to make it big.'
'Damn,' it's Dean's turn to whistle, 'California don't seem like much of a country music sort of place though.'
'We do okay,' Steve shrugs. 'We're getting our name out there at least. Our shows have good crowds, but I think we’re gonna have to go to Nashville or something if we want to really make it with a label and everything.'
'And you want it really big?' Dean smirks knowingly.
'I don't know,' Steve shrugs again. 'Chris does, I think. Wants to prove something to his family and himself. I just want to play. I like seeing people enjoy my music, get that audience feedback loop going, it's a rush like you wouldn't believe. Shit,' he laughs, 'listen to me carry on.'
'No, it's cool,' Dean waves away the apology. 'It's more interesting than my life.'
Seizing the opportunity to change the subject away from himself Steve asks, 'So, what do you do then? When you're not visiting your brother.'
Dean's feeling mellow and his defenses are down and it just comes out, 'I work with my Dad.'
'And that is. . . ' Steve prompts.
'Auto garage,' he recovers, 'I'm a mechanic.'
'Oh yeah? I love cars. Don't know a thing about 'em, but I love 'em. Especially muscle cars,' Steve enthuses.
'You should see my baby then,' Dean grins.
'Your baby?' Steve prompts, enjoying the conversation.
'1967 Impala,' Dean says with pride.
'No shit,' Steve says admiringly. As the kid lovingly describes his car Steve thinks to himself that he may not get to sleep in an actual bed tonight, but at least he gets to have some decent conversation.
&*&*&*&*
The tour of northern California is going great, they've gotten a good reception at all their shows. There are only a couple of shows left and as much as he loves the guys in the band, after so long in each others pockets he needs a break from them. Besides, it was his turn to sleep in the camper, and after months on the road it was getting a little rank in there. It was easier to sleep if he had a good buzz going.
He finds a quieter bar a couple blocks down from the one they'd played. He knew it was what he wanted as soon as he walked in: a jukebox played low in the corner, big screen on the wall with a game on, pool tables in the back and a mid-sized crowd at the bar and scattered tables.
Settling at the bar with single minded determination he orders a shot of Jack with a beer back and winces as he hears those words come outta his mouth. Damn Chris and his redneck bar orders. Oh well, he shrugs to himself, as long as it gets him the shot and beer he wants.
Knocking back the shot as soon as the bartender hands it to him, he lets out a deep sigh of satisfaction. Now, that was what he'd needed.
'You, my friend, look like a man on a mission,' comes from the guy on the stool next to him.
'Long damn day, and my buddies are making me crazy,' he answers distractedly, taking a long swallow of his beer.
Motioning to the bartender for another shot he turns to look at the guy who spoke. 'Hey,' he blurts out in surprise. 'I know you!'
The guy gets a wary look in his eyes and tenses up, ready for a fight, and Steve curses his mouth. That came out much more confrontational then he meant. The last thing he wanted was to start something.
'Not in a bad way,' he hastens to add. 'We met a while back, a bar in Santa Clara, I told you how I ended up in a country band and about cooking. You told me about your brother and your car.' He knows he's coming off kinda creepy, but he's got a good memory for faces in connection with random conversations, words, like music, just stick in his head.
'Right, the musician,' Dean relaxed. He remembered the guy. Harmless hippie was how he'd categorized him. 'Kicked outta the room for a bit of fluff again?'
'Naw,' and there's that soft huff of laughter Dean remembers, 'it's my turn for one of the bunks in the camper and after weeks on the road it's easier to sleep in there if you're too drunk to smell it.'
Dean laughs, 'Shit, I can relate, we'd take family road trips and my brother's ass could be registered as a lethal weapon.'
Joining in the laughter Steve sticks out his hand, 'Steve Carlson.'
'Dean Winchester,' they shake hands.
'So,' Steve smiles, 'wanna join me in killing off my sense of smell?'
'I got something better,' Dean grins sharp, he knows he's taking a chance, but this always goes better with a partner, even one who doesn't know what's going on. Plus, his funds are low and he doesn't feel like finding a new bar to hustle. 'Let's shoot some pool'
They take their beers back to a pool table, put their money down, and wait their turn.
The guys running the table are pretty good, but Dean's been doing this a long time. Dean and Steve barely win the first game, just like he planned, and the guys want a rematch. Having a pretty good idea of what his new pool partner is capable of, he offers a side bet. Just to make it interesting he says.
Steve gives him a sharp look at that, but seems on board with it. By the end of the game Dean thinks Steve knows he's hustling the guys. Half way through the next game he's sure of it.
'Hey,' Steve pulls Dean aside, 'all I want is enough to get a damn motel room and not to have the locals want to bash my face in.'
'That's doable,' Dean agrees. He likes this guy. He's funny, doesn't ask questions, and he went with the hustle like he'd done it before. He also refuses his half of the take, 'You sure man?' Dean asks 'You worked for it to.'
'Naw, it was fun.' Steve's laughing that soft low laugh. 'I haven't hustled pool since high school. Brought back memories. And right now all I wanna do is sleep.'
*&*&*&*&
Dean's with John in Port Orford, Oregon, investigating what could be selkies. He's had about enough of John's attitude and he wants a drink. Down the block from their motel is this rundown place practically on the water. Scanning the bar he sees a familiar face. He's torn between not having to come up with a story to cover why he's in Oregon, and hanging out with someone who's company he knows he'll enjoy.
He decides the hell with it, Steve had been so laid back the other times they'd talked and it'd been months, there was no telling if the guy remembered him anyway. Besides, any man who went along with hustling pool with no questions asked wasn't gonna pry if he didn't volunteer why he was in the area.
Resolved, he walks over to the table, taps Steve on the shoulder, and when the blond turns to look he says, 'Hey! I know you!'
'Dean!' Steve stands and pulls Dean into a hug, slapping him on the back. 'How ya doing man?'
'I'm good, good,' he answers. Looking at the table of people he continues, 'Did I miss the show?'
'Hell, yeah, asshole,' Steve grins. 'Let me introduce you to the guys in the band,' pointing to each in turn he names them off, 'Will plays bass, Jason's our other guitarist and Ryan's on drums. This is Dean.'
The guys nod their greetings with a friendly 'Hey man' as Dean settles into the space they make for him at the table. Dean nods back greetings, gratefully taking the beer Steve pours him from the pitcher on the table.
'You sure you don't wanna come Steve?' The guy with the wild mane of hair continues the conversation Dean's arrival had interrupted.
'Naw,' Steve shakes his head, draining his own glass. 'It's my turn in a room and I'm damn well gonna enjoy it!
Laughing the other three drain their glasses getting ready to leave.
Jason turns to Dean, 'You interested Dean?'
'In what?' Dean asks back.
'Chris found a party at some place on the beach, wanna come?' Ryan answers.
Dean shrugs, looking at Steve.
'Go man, it's no skin off my nose, I'm probably gonna make it an early night.' Steve tells him.
'Naw,' Dean answers the guys, 'I think I'll stay here and catch up with Steve.'
'Hey,' Steve calls out as the guys leave, 'tell Chris not to bring that skank he was with back to the room. I ain't leaving and he sure as shit ain't banging her there with me sleeping in the next bed.'
Waving off Steve's bitching with laughter, the three men take off.
'You didn't have to stay on my account,' Steve says.
'It's no biggie,' Dean replies. 'I'm not in the mood for noise and drunks. So, you shoot darts, or only hustle pool?'
Steve laughs and they move their drinks to a little table in the back by the dart boards. Dean even lets Steve win a couple of games.
Time passes quickly and before they know it it's last call. 'Hey,' Steve says, 'I don't know about you, but I'm not ready to call it a night. Let's grab a bottle, I got a room at that place down the block.'
'Sounds good to me,' Dean says. He's having too good a time hanging out and shooting the shit to want to go back to the room he's sharing with John. He's sure his dad's mood hasn't improved in the hours he's been gone either.
They grab a bottle and a six pack and head down the block. When they get to the room Steve kicks off his shoes and grabs a guitar. Dropping onto the bed he props himself against the headboard. Dean makes himself comfortable on the other end of the bed, bottle and six pack in the space between.
'You actually play that thing, or is it a prop to pick up chicks?' Dean asks cheekily, gesturing to the guitar with an unopened beer.
'Oh, it's on little man,' Steve laughs. He strums a couple of chords, checking the tuning, and plays the opening bars of Stairway to Heaven.
Laughing hard, Dean falls back on the bed. 'Fine, fine, you can play.'
'What about you?' Steve asks. 'You can hustle pool and darts, can you play the guitar too?'
'Nope, never had the chance to learn,' Dean answers.
Getting up Steve gets out another of his guitars handing it off to Dean.
'How many of these do you have?' Dean asks with a laugh.
'With me or all together?' Steve grins, feeling pretty mellow and happy with the company.
Laughing more Dean shakes his head at his friends antics.
Noodling around with the guitars, Steve shows Dean a couple of chords and how to pick out a melody. 'Now you know enough to pick-up some little groupies of your own.' He tells him.
The six pack and half the bottle of Jack later they've put up the guitars and are leaning against the headboard, side by side, handing the bottle back and forth. They share a rambling conversation, alcohol making them honest and the new friendship they feel making them share things they normally wouldn't.
'I couldn't believe it when my dad told Sam not to come back if he left. Family is the most important thing. If he can tell Sammy to leave and not come back, what's he gonna do if I piss him off?'
'My friendship with Chris is the best and most important relationship I've ever had in my life. I never want to have to choose between him and a lover.'
'He doesn’t know where the money comes from but I've sent Sammy every penny I ever managed to save.'
'I write music I never show the guys in the band, especially not Chris. I wanna be like Leon Russell man.'
'I want more out of life than I've got and I'm afraid I'm never going to get it.'
The sun is starting to lighten the curtains when Dean downs the last swallow from the bottle. Steve had passed out next to him mid-word and he figured now was as good a time as any to attempt to get back to his room. Rolling to the edge of the bed he contemplated the distance to the floor. It was much to far. The last thing he thought before conciseness fled was this would really give John a reason to be pissy.
*&*&*&*&
With Sammy at Stanford, Dean feels compelled to stay near the west coast; only occasionally venturing eastward. John's never said anything, but Dean's sure he knows why he passes on so many jobs that would take him away for an extended time. How can he look after his brother if he's half a continent away?
He's taken to scanning local paper's entertainment sections and bar room fliers wherever he's at. If Kane is playing anywhere nearby he tries to stop by to have a drink with Steve. He still hasn't managed to catch a show though, and it's become a running joke between them.
No matter where he turns up, Steve never questions why he's there. Just greets him with a grin, happy to see him. Dean can't remember what he may have said about his life that night in Oregon, but he suspects Steve may think he's some kind of criminal.
Steve thinks things are going pretty good with the band, but he knows Chris wants something bigger. They've been touring on and off for what seems like forever. The band finally has a solid following all along the west coast. They even have a regular gig at the Viper Room.
Random meetings with Dean have become one of the highlights of touring. He loves the crowds and the applause and people singing their songs along with them will never stop being cool, but hanging out with Dean has become a spot of normalcy in the craziness of life on the road.
He's never asked Dean why he turns up so many different places. Just greets him with a grin, happy to see him. He's afraid if Dean confirmed his theory that the younger man is some kind of criminal that would be the last time Steve would see him. He's not ashamed to admit he's selfish and doesn't want to loose a friend.
&*&*&*&*&*
Steve has no idea why the hell he's in Nashville of all places. Actually, he does know why he's in Tennessee, Christian Fucking Kane. The record labels had come calling so they'd packed it up and moved east. Turned out the labels were only interested in Chris, the rest of the band was incidental.
It was bullshit as far as Steve was concerned. Kane was him and Chris and that was all there was too it. No record company was going to break them up if he had anything to say about it. And fuck Chris for only wanting the fame. It didn't help that Chris' new flavor of the week, Whitney, was a singer too. The labels were panting over what a perfect duo they would make.
He spots a bar with a motel nearby. Getting too drunk to remember how to drive sounds pretty damn good. It's a weeknight and only a handful of diehard drinkers are at the bar. Scanning the crowd out of habit, he spots the back of a familiar dirty blond head. As he approaches the bar he catches the man's reflection in the bar mirror, confirming his identity.
'Dean, hey man, what're you doing out here?' Surprise animates his tired voice.
Dean had only come out to Tennessee to deal with a nest of kobalds because John was working a case in California. He didn't like to leave his brother alone on the coast. Even though Sam never knew he was there, Dean knew someone was there to watch over him.
He hadn't heard from his dad in over a week. No bodies matching John's description had turned up in the area he was hunting and none of their distress signals had been tripped. Anything that could disappear John Winchester wasn't anything Dean wanted to tackle alone. He didn't want to do it, but he was afraid he was gonna have to ask Sammy for help. He'd hit the bar with the intention of one last toast to keeping Sammy out of the life.
At the sound of his name in a familiar voice Dean swivels on his stool, 'Steve,' he dredges up a smile, 'good to see you.'
Settling next to his friend at the bar Steve waves to the bartender, 'Whiskey, neat,' he orders. 'Damn man, I haven't seen you in awhile. What brings you so far east?'
Dean shrugs, 'Work ya know. What about you? Thought you were a west coast boy.'
It's Steve's turn to shrug, 'Nashville called.'
A genuine smile breaks across Dean's features, 'Well alright then,' he slaps his friend on the shoulder, 'we should celebrate.'
'Nuthin' to celebrate man.' Steve knocks back his drink, waving for another, 'Nashville may have called, but they only want Chris to answer.'
'Damn, that sucks out loud man. Even more reason to drink.' Dean waves his glass to the bartender.
'How's your brother doing? He still at school?' Steve asks, trying to steer the conversation away from problems he's tired of dealing with.
Dean grimaces, sipping is new drink, 'He's doing great. Gonna be taking his LSAT's soon.'
'You don't look too happy,' Steve observes.
With a tired sigh, Dean props his chin on a fist, 'I am happy for him, but our dad's messing shit up.'
'Well, if that ain't a reason to drink I don't know one,' Steve raises his glass in a toast.
A couple of shots turns into just leave the bottle. They don't talk much, both too lost in their own misery. By last call the bartender is giving them concerned looks, they'd managed to finish off two bottles between them.
Dean waves off the offer of a cab, grabbing Steve's arm and steering him toward the door. 'Don' worry, ain' no one driving,' he tells the bartender.
Leaning heavily on each other they mange a drunken sway to Dean's room. Key fumbling in the lock, they nearly fall over as the door pops open.
'You are a good friend,' Steve enunciates carefully, patting Dean's shoulder as he maneuvers to the unused bed.
'So'r you man,' Dean mumbles, slumped on his bed trying to work off his boots. Giving it up as a lost cause he flops back, passing out to the sounds of Steve's soft snoring.
*&*&*&*&
It's loud and crowded in the bar. The first set had kicked ass and Steve was working his way through the crowd to the bar to grab a drink, stopping to shake hands and accept praise along the way. He spies a familiar figure leaning back against the bar, grinning at his approach.
'Shit man!' He grabs Dean in a back-slapping hug, he's high on the adrenaline of the show and it's been nearly a year since he's seen his friend. 'it's been forever! You catch the show?'
'Yeah man, you guys are pretty good for a country band,' Dean smirks.
'Country with a little gasoline asshole,' Steve smirks back, smacking Dean's shoulder. 'So, what're you doing here?'
'Came to see you play dude.' Dean says, 'duh' audible in his voice.
'You never come to a show man, you're allergic to country music,' Steve laughs.
'Shit,' Dean drawls, 'saw your name on the marquee and had to stop man, it's been way to long.'
'Well damn, it's good to see you. You're looking good, how's life treating you? How's your brother? He a big shot lawyer yet?' Steve peppers Dean with rapid fire questions.
'Naw,' Dean laughs at Steve's enthusiasm. It's been way too long since he's seen the man and he'd missed his friend. 'Shit happened ya know. He's actually in a booth in the back.' Dean's grin turns evil, 'bout blew his little emo-music listening mind, me dragging him in here with a country band playing. Speaking of, what happened with Nashville?'
Steve's grin got even bigger, 'Nashville may have only wanted Chris, but he told 'em it was alla Kane or nuthin'. Shocked the shit outta me. I thought he wanted the fame more than anything.'
'Well hell,' Dean shakes his head, 'that is a damn good friend.'
'Yep,' Steve's smile turned fond. 'Anyway, we managed to get signed with an indy country label. Got a cd coming out soon and everything.'
'Hot damn!' Dean punches him in the shoulder, 'Got me a big time star for a friend now! Buy me a shot to celebrate!'
Steve laughs at Dean, 'Dude, big time star ain't happening. Still gotta share a damned motel room when we're on the road.' Taking a long drink of the beer the bartender handed him, he asks, 'You staying for the second set?'
'I'd like to man, but I can see the princess is beckoning,' Dean gestures to where he sees Sam making his way through the crowded bar toward him. He's making what Dean privately refers to as bitch-face number 3 - 'let's go'. He shakes his head, 'I'm sorry, I gotta take off, got a thing ya know.'
Turning Steve looks in the direction Dean gestured. 'Damn, you weren't kidding 'bout how tall he is,' he laughs. 'We're playing here again tomorrow night. Come back and I'll put you on the list, get you in free.'
'Dude,' Dean grins at the thought, 'that would be epic. Talk about blowing Sammy's mind.'
Sam has made it part way through the crowd as Dean clasps Steve's hand. 'We'll be here, put us both down on the list. That'll freak him out.'
Steve laughs, 'Alright man, you'd better show up!'
'Wouldn't miss it.' Thunking his empty glass on the bar Dean pulls Steve into a quick hug, 'See ya tomorrow night then,' he calls as he turns to take off.
'Who the hell was that?' Is growled from behind Steve, making him jump.
'Shit, Chris, don't sneak up on me,' he says turning round.
Chris is making his own version of bitch-face at Steve, 'M not sneaking. Who was that?'
Chris' tone combined with his expression piss Steve off just enough to make him want to mess with him. 'Just some guy, told me how great he thought I was tonight. He said he'd be at the show tomorrow. Got his phone number.'
The sour look on Chris' face is worth the lie. 'Well come on,' Chris growls, 'I wanna move the monitors, I keep getting feedback.'
Suppressing a smirk at Chris' discomfort Steve follows him back to the stage.
&*&*&*&*&*&*
Chris is working the crowd between sets when he sees the guy from last night. He's at the bar with a damn tall dude he remembers seeing in the crowd from the night before as well.
He knows he was an ass to Steve over the guy last night, and he'd rather not examine why. He doesn't swing that way like Steve can, but that doesn't mean he wants anyone messing with his best friend.
Deciding to take the bull by the horns and play nice he approaches the pair. 'You boys big fans or something? I swear I seen y’all last night.'
Dean's lip curls in a smirk designed to wind people up, he recognizes the guy from on stage and figures this must be the elusive Chris that Steve has been complaining about for the length of their friendship. 'Nope,' he answers.
'I'm sure I remember you,' Chris points at Sam, 'You're too damn big to forget.'
Sam blushes and stutters as Dean laughs. The night is turning out great for tweaking Sam's chain, first the thing at the door with Sam's incredulous looks at their being on the guest list and now this.
Approaching the trio, Steve ignores Chris completely, pulling Dean into a back-slapping hug, 'Glad you made it man.'
'Hell yeah, wouldn't miss it.' Dean returns the hug with enthusiasm, anything to tweak his brother. Winding up the scowling redneck in their midst is just a bonus. 'You seriously rocked up there.'
Dean's smirk deepens in satisfaction at the confused look on Sam's face and the annoyed look on Chris'.
'I thought you said you'd never seen us before?' Chris accuses. 'How do you know Steve?'
'I said I'm not a big fan.' Dean points out, voice pitched deliberately to wind Chris up.
Chris' face twists in a sour scowl. Steve shoots a frown of disapproval Chris' way, then continues to ignore him. If he got upset every time Chris did he'd have an ulcer. Besides, over the years he'd found that ignoring it helped to diffuse Chris' 'situations'.
'How long you known Steve for then?' Chris asks, trying for a civil tone, aware of the disapproval Steve is projecting his way.
'It's been what, three years?' Dean asks Steve.
'Something like that,' Steve agrees. 'We meet in bay area I think. Before we started touring up into Oregon and Washington anyway.'
'That's right,' Dean continues, falling into Steve's rhythm as easily as they've ever fallen into the rhythm of hustling pool or darts. 'Sam was still at Stanford.'
'Yeah,' Steve says with a smile. 'Speaking of, you ever gonna introduce me to your brother?'
'Seems like he doesn't need to,' Sam interrupts. 'You already know who I am,' he shoots a bitchy look Dean's way. 'And I have no clue who you are.'
Dean makes a sweeping gesture of introduction, 'Sam, this is my good buddy Steve Carlson, the rock star.'
'Country star, dumb-ass,' Steve smiles.
'Sorry, country music big shot,' Dean apologizes with mock sincerity. 'Steve, this is my little brother Sammy Winchester.'
'Sam,' Sam automatically corrects his brother.
'Good to meet ya,' Steve holds out his hand in a polite handshake.
Sam's still a little annoyed, but pulls out the good manners, returning the handshake, 'Nice to meet you too.'
'And this,' Steve says, gesturing to the man across from him, 'is Christian Kane, bane of my existence, singer in my band.'
'Hey, it's my band,' Chris grumbles, but shakes hands all 'round. He's calmed down, but still, he doesn't like this, Steve is his friend damn it. Who the hell is this guy?
'Dean, gimme a hand with the beer and shots would ya,' Steve asks. Turning, he motions to Chris, 'You and Sam grab a table, we got a break and I wanna drink.'
With a sarcastic salute Chris turns to work his way through the crowd to the tables in the back. After shooting an exasperated look his brothers way Sam follows.
'So,' Dean says, 'that's Chris huh?'
'Yep,' says Steve, ordering a couple of pitchers of beer and a tray of shots from the bartender, 'the one and only.'
'Kinda a dick ain't he,' Dean observes.
'Yeah, but only when he thinks I'm trying to pick up a guy.' Steve's got a fond smile on his face.
'Seriously?' Dean asks, 'ain't that a little odd?'
'Yep, it drives him nuts, but he'll never admit it.' Steve's smile turns evil, 'I know it's wrong, but when the man pisses me off I like to let him think every guy I talk too is a potential one night stand.'
'Dude,' Dean grins, 'that is fucked up.'
'Welcome to my life,' Steve says with a matching grin.
Drinks in hand they work their way back to Chris and Sam. The two seem to be getting along as well as two strangers can.
Settling in at the table Steve and Dean get glasses passed out and beer poured. Chris raises his traditional first shot to the band, and they all knock back their drinks with a hearty 'here, here'. Dean follows that up with a toast to meeting up with old friends, Sam adding in meeting new friends and they knock back the shot with a laugh.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand Chris asks, 'Whadda you boys do then?'
Steve, enjoying winding Chris up, jumps in with an answer before Dean or Sam can spin a story, 'They're criminals dumb-ass, con-men and pool hustlers.'
Sam gets a pained look on his face as Dean and Steve crack-up laughing. Chris scowls at Steve, kicking him under the table. 'Stop being a fuckin' dick dude,' he growls.
'Sorry, sorry,' Steve laughs, 'you had it coming for being a dick last night.'
'Fine,' Chris grumps, 'truce.'
'Truce,' Steve agrees.
Turning to Dean, Chris asks, 'How is it we never meet then?'
'Just lucky I guess,' Dean replies with a shrug.
'If you weren't off banging every groupie that gave you the eye you'da meet long ago.' Steve points out.
Steve's tone is light, but Chris can hear a thread of anger and hurt under it. At a loss as to why, all he can do is play along with the teasing. 'You're just jealous that even playing for both teams you ain't getting it as regular as me,' he grins.
'Yeah, that's got to be it.' Steve grins back with a tip of his glass in a toast. 'Sorry man,' Steve gives Sam an apologetic look, working to lighten his mood, 'he brings out the best in me, what can I say.'
Sam just grins back, shaking his head bemused. It's a little surreal, seeing this side of his brother. He can't remember ever hanging out with people Dean considered friends. He thinks he'd like to get to know this version of the man that's his brother.
'So, how did you meet Steve then?' Chris asks, trying a different tack to get information about this stranger that Steve considers a friend.
Dean shrugs and answers, 'I was trying to relax with a drink when this surfer-movie reject and his big ego wanted to know if I'd seen him play.'
Steve swats at his friend in mock anger, 'Hey now, who's got the big ego, mister pool shark'
'Damn right,' Dean grins. He turns to Chris, continuing. 'We been running into each other on and off for years now. Turns out his big ego is warranted. The boy can play.'
'Well thank you,' Steve says with a grin that turns to a leer, 'You're not so bad yourself.'
Dean leers right back with a predatory look on his face.
Sam can feel his eyes widen in surprise. He has never seen Dean flirt with a guy before and it's further altering his perception of his brother.
'What?' Dean glares at his brother, 'can't a man have a good time with his buddies?'
Sam sputters, hiding behind his beer and Dean's glare morphs to a grin at his little brother's discomfort. It was always a thrill to rile up Sammy.
Leaning over Sam's way Chris says in a conspiratorial whisper, 'Welcome to my hell. Swear to God the man can't not make eyes at every dude he sees.'
'Hey! I take offense at that,' Steve says in mock anger, 'who is it runs off with every girl who looks his way?'
'That'd be me,' Chris grins unrepentant. 'You grab your share of girls too, ya greedy bastard.'
'A toast to Steve, the degenerate bastard,' Dean raises his glass and the other two follow suit, Sam with an amused look and Chris with an evil grin.
'Hey now,' Steve sputters, embarrassment coloring his cheeks, smacking shoulders and kicking shins.
'What are you 8? Kicking us under the table' Chris grumbles good naturedly.
'Drink up boys,' the sound guy calls out as he passes by their table on the way to his booth, 'ya gotta be back on in like 5.'
Chris and Steve knock back their shots in unison. 'Hang around, we'll party after the show, Chris knows all the easiest groupies,' Steve says with an easy teasing tone as he stands.
'Yeah Sammy,' Dean elbows his brother in the side, 'maybe you'll get lucky.'
'Yeah, lucky to get herpes!' Steve calls with a hoot of laughter.
'Hey, that was just the one time' Chris defends himself with a glare.
With a tumble of laughter the guys haul themselves back on stage.
fin.
x
Author: Ranua
Title: The Nights Make Up For It
Rating: Teen for language
Fandom: Supernatural crossed with Kane RPF
Disclaimer: None of this is real and I'm making no profit and no claims to legitimacy.
Word Count: 6,400
Warning/Notes: Don't think there's anything to warn about. The story starts pre-series Supernatural. Just hand wave away any time line issues please. It takes place in my Gimme a Double universe with In a Honky-Tonk Somewhere and Who We Really Are. It actually takes place before Honky-Tonk, but you don't have to read one to get the other.
Summery: Steve Carlson and Dean Winchester meet and bitch about their lives.
&*&*&*&*&*&*&
Steve hadn't been too sure about coming so far north of their usual L.A. club circuit, but Chris had been certain northern California with it's hippie reputation would be starved for their kind of country music. They'd had the opening slot for a local house band and the crowd had totally been into them. Whatever Chris' reasoning he'd been right on the money.
It wasn't enough for Steve to forgive him for messing up his night though. Instead of stretching out on the motel bed he'd been looking forward too, he was sitting at the bar, nursing a beer. Damn Christian for taking some little bit of fluff back to the room. It was crash in the cab of the truck, Will's camper with the other guys (and if three was crowded, four was a nightmare), or sit it out at the bar, hoping something would come along.
He's feeling sorry for himself, letting the sounds of a night winding down lull him into accepting his fate, when this, can not be legal, kid collapses on the stool next to him; all loose limbs and baby-face, spiky hair with an 'I know I'm all that' smirk twisting his lips.
The bartender gives him the fish-eye as he wanders to their end of the bar. With a put-upon sigh the kid pulls out his wallet, sliding out his I.D.
'Fuckin' tired of this, gonna be 23 in a couple-a months,' the kid grumbles.
The bartender examines the I.D., never letting up the stink eye. It must pass muster because he slides it back to the kid with a 'What'll ya have?'
'Whatever's on tap that's not light beer,' is the answer.
'Ya know,' Steve says, amusement at the kids grumbling coloring his voice, 'maybe a little stubble could help out. Give you that rugged look, make you look a little older.'
'Maybe,' the kid, well, not really a kid at 22 to Steve's 25, turns an assessing eye on him.
Dean gives the guy next to him the once over. He looks like a reject from a surfer movie, all blond hair, unbuttoned shirt displaying tanned skin with layers of necklaces; bracelets and rings in silver and turquoise adorning wrists and hands. Maybe a cross between a surfer and a hippie he amends. Not what you'd expect in a roadhouse like this. Harmless looking though, and that's what mattered.
He had used the excuse of checking into rumors of vampires to come to Santa Clara. It just so happened Stanford was nearby and he'd been able to check-up on Sammy too. He was a little depressed at how well it looked like his brother was doing without him. He's proud of him though, Winchesters don't need help doing great things after all.
'So,' Steve starts talking again, he's bored and a little cranky, any distraction is a good distraction, 'did ya see the show?'
'Show?' Dean raises an eyebrow. 'There was a show?'
Steve gets the feeling there's a wealth of perverted meaning in the tone of voice the younger man uses. 'Live music,' Steve clarifies, 'my band played the opening slot.'
Dean perks up a little, he loves live music, even crappy roadhouse bands can be a good time. 'What kinda band?'
'Country,' Steve replies
'No shit,' Dean looks him up and down, 'you don't look like any country band guy I've ever seen.'
Laughing, Steve answers, 'Yeah, I know. You should see Christian. Now, that boy is country.'
'Whadda ya play then?' Dean asks.
'I'm a guitarist.' Steve answers, motioning for another beer, they go down fast when he's got someone to talk to.
'Why're you sitting here alone then?' Dean gestures to the lack of people at the bar. 'Shouldn't you have some groupie hanging off ya?'
'Not really in the mood,' Steve shrugs. 'I'd rather be stretched out on my way to sleep 'bout now.'
Taking a long drink of his beer, Dean asks, 'So, why the hell are you sitting here?'
'Ah,' Steve laughs some more, and Dean likes that the guy laughs so much, so low and soft, like the whole world is a joke that he enjoys. 'Christian picked up some little piece of fluff and kicked me outta the room 'fore I had a chance to get comfy.'
'Dude, that's harsh.' Dean's been sharing a room for years and never kicked Sammy out over a girl. You went to the girls place if you wanted privacy.
'So, what are you doing here then if you weren't here for our show?' Steve asks
Dean sees no reason to lie, besides he likes to brag on Sammy, 'Visiting my brother at Stanford.'
'That's cool,' Steve sips at his new beer. 'Never got the college thing myself.'
'Yeah, me neither,' Dean agrees. 'Sammy though, he's always been so damned smart. Got a full ride.' He's practically beaming with fraternal pride.
'Damn,' Steve whistles, 'that's pretty cool.'
'Yeah,' they trail off into silence, sipping their beers and watching the t.v. behind the bar.
Dean's not in the mood to listen to his own thoughts though, so he starts up the conversation again. 'Why country music? You really don't look the type.'
'That would be because of Christian.' There's more of that low soft laugh. 'He's my best friend and the reason I'm in a band and not in a kitchen somewhere.'
At Dean's questioning look he elaborates. 'I went to culinary school and was working my way up through the kitchen at a high end restaurant. That's where I met Chris. He was waiting tables while trying to get his break as an actor. We hit it off, found out we had music in common, decided to start a band, and here we are,' he spreads his hands as though to encompass the whole bar. 'Touring the west coast trying to make it big.'
'Damn,' it's Dean's turn to whistle, 'California don't seem like much of a country music sort of place though.'
'We do okay,' Steve shrugs. 'We're getting our name out there at least. Our shows have good crowds, but I think we’re gonna have to go to Nashville or something if we want to really make it with a label and everything.'
'And you want it really big?' Dean smirks knowingly.
'I don't know,' Steve shrugs again. 'Chris does, I think. Wants to prove something to his family and himself. I just want to play. I like seeing people enjoy my music, get that audience feedback loop going, it's a rush like you wouldn't believe. Shit,' he laughs, 'listen to me carry on.'
'No, it's cool,' Dean waves away the apology. 'It's more interesting than my life.'
Seizing the opportunity to change the subject away from himself Steve asks, 'So, what do you do then? When you're not visiting your brother.'
Dean's feeling mellow and his defenses are down and it just comes out, 'I work with my Dad.'
'And that is. . . ' Steve prompts.
'Auto garage,' he recovers, 'I'm a mechanic.'
'Oh yeah? I love cars. Don't know a thing about 'em, but I love 'em. Especially muscle cars,' Steve enthuses.
'You should see my baby then,' Dean grins.
'Your baby?' Steve prompts, enjoying the conversation.
'1967 Impala,' Dean says with pride.
'No shit,' Steve says admiringly. As the kid lovingly describes his car Steve thinks to himself that he may not get to sleep in an actual bed tonight, but at least he gets to have some decent conversation.
&*&*&*&*
The tour of northern California is going great, they've gotten a good reception at all their shows. There are only a couple of shows left and as much as he loves the guys in the band, after so long in each others pockets he needs a break from them. Besides, it was his turn to sleep in the camper, and after months on the road it was getting a little rank in there. It was easier to sleep if he had a good buzz going.
He finds a quieter bar a couple blocks down from the one they'd played. He knew it was what he wanted as soon as he walked in: a jukebox played low in the corner, big screen on the wall with a game on, pool tables in the back and a mid-sized crowd at the bar and scattered tables.
Settling at the bar with single minded determination he orders a shot of Jack with a beer back and winces as he hears those words come outta his mouth. Damn Chris and his redneck bar orders. Oh well, he shrugs to himself, as long as it gets him the shot and beer he wants.
Knocking back the shot as soon as the bartender hands it to him, he lets out a deep sigh of satisfaction. Now, that was what he'd needed.
'You, my friend, look like a man on a mission,' comes from the guy on the stool next to him.
'Long damn day, and my buddies are making me crazy,' he answers distractedly, taking a long swallow of his beer.
Motioning to the bartender for another shot he turns to look at the guy who spoke. 'Hey,' he blurts out in surprise. 'I know you!'
The guy gets a wary look in his eyes and tenses up, ready for a fight, and Steve curses his mouth. That came out much more confrontational then he meant. The last thing he wanted was to start something.
'Not in a bad way,' he hastens to add. 'We met a while back, a bar in Santa Clara, I told you how I ended up in a country band and about cooking. You told me about your brother and your car.' He knows he's coming off kinda creepy, but he's got a good memory for faces in connection with random conversations, words, like music, just stick in his head.
'Right, the musician,' Dean relaxed. He remembered the guy. Harmless hippie was how he'd categorized him. 'Kicked outta the room for a bit of fluff again?'
'Naw,' and there's that soft huff of laughter Dean remembers, 'it's my turn for one of the bunks in the camper and after weeks on the road it's easier to sleep in there if you're too drunk to smell it.'
Dean laughs, 'Shit, I can relate, we'd take family road trips and my brother's ass could be registered as a lethal weapon.'
Joining in the laughter Steve sticks out his hand, 'Steve Carlson.'
'Dean Winchester,' they shake hands.
'So,' Steve smiles, 'wanna join me in killing off my sense of smell?'
'I got something better,' Dean grins sharp, he knows he's taking a chance, but this always goes better with a partner, even one who doesn't know what's going on. Plus, his funds are low and he doesn't feel like finding a new bar to hustle. 'Let's shoot some pool'
They take their beers back to a pool table, put their money down, and wait their turn.
The guys running the table are pretty good, but Dean's been doing this a long time. Dean and Steve barely win the first game, just like he planned, and the guys want a rematch. Having a pretty good idea of what his new pool partner is capable of, he offers a side bet. Just to make it interesting he says.
Steve gives him a sharp look at that, but seems on board with it. By the end of the game Dean thinks Steve knows he's hustling the guys. Half way through the next game he's sure of it.
'Hey,' Steve pulls Dean aside, 'all I want is enough to get a damn motel room and not to have the locals want to bash my face in.'
'That's doable,' Dean agrees. He likes this guy. He's funny, doesn't ask questions, and he went with the hustle like he'd done it before. He also refuses his half of the take, 'You sure man?' Dean asks 'You worked for it to.'
'Naw, it was fun.' Steve's laughing that soft low laugh. 'I haven't hustled pool since high school. Brought back memories. And right now all I wanna do is sleep.'
*&*&*&*&
Dean's with John in Port Orford, Oregon, investigating what could be selkies. He's had about enough of John's attitude and he wants a drink. Down the block from their motel is this rundown place practically on the water. Scanning the bar he sees a familiar face. He's torn between not having to come up with a story to cover why he's in Oregon, and hanging out with someone who's company he knows he'll enjoy.
He decides the hell with it, Steve had been so laid back the other times they'd talked and it'd been months, there was no telling if the guy remembered him anyway. Besides, any man who went along with hustling pool with no questions asked wasn't gonna pry if he didn't volunteer why he was in the area.
Resolved, he walks over to the table, taps Steve on the shoulder, and when the blond turns to look he says, 'Hey! I know you!'
'Dean!' Steve stands and pulls Dean into a hug, slapping him on the back. 'How ya doing man?'
'I'm good, good,' he answers. Looking at the table of people he continues, 'Did I miss the show?'
'Hell, yeah, asshole,' Steve grins. 'Let me introduce you to the guys in the band,' pointing to each in turn he names them off, 'Will plays bass, Jason's our other guitarist and Ryan's on drums. This is Dean.'
The guys nod their greetings with a friendly 'Hey man' as Dean settles into the space they make for him at the table. Dean nods back greetings, gratefully taking the beer Steve pours him from the pitcher on the table.
'You sure you don't wanna come Steve?' The guy with the wild mane of hair continues the conversation Dean's arrival had interrupted.
'Naw,' Steve shakes his head, draining his own glass. 'It's my turn in a room and I'm damn well gonna enjoy it!
Laughing the other three drain their glasses getting ready to leave.
Jason turns to Dean, 'You interested Dean?'
'In what?' Dean asks back.
'Chris found a party at some place on the beach, wanna come?' Ryan answers.
Dean shrugs, looking at Steve.
'Go man, it's no skin off my nose, I'm probably gonna make it an early night.' Steve tells him.
'Naw,' Dean answers the guys, 'I think I'll stay here and catch up with Steve.'
'Hey,' Steve calls out as the guys leave, 'tell Chris not to bring that skank he was with back to the room. I ain't leaving and he sure as shit ain't banging her there with me sleeping in the next bed.'
Waving off Steve's bitching with laughter, the three men take off.
'You didn't have to stay on my account,' Steve says.
'It's no biggie,' Dean replies. 'I'm not in the mood for noise and drunks. So, you shoot darts, or only hustle pool?'
Steve laughs and they move their drinks to a little table in the back by the dart boards. Dean even lets Steve win a couple of games.
Time passes quickly and before they know it it's last call. 'Hey,' Steve says, 'I don't know about you, but I'm not ready to call it a night. Let's grab a bottle, I got a room at that place down the block.'
'Sounds good to me,' Dean says. He's having too good a time hanging out and shooting the shit to want to go back to the room he's sharing with John. He's sure his dad's mood hasn't improved in the hours he's been gone either.
They grab a bottle and a six pack and head down the block. When they get to the room Steve kicks off his shoes and grabs a guitar. Dropping onto the bed he props himself against the headboard. Dean makes himself comfortable on the other end of the bed, bottle and six pack in the space between.
'You actually play that thing, or is it a prop to pick up chicks?' Dean asks cheekily, gesturing to the guitar with an unopened beer.
'Oh, it's on little man,' Steve laughs. He strums a couple of chords, checking the tuning, and plays the opening bars of Stairway to Heaven.
Laughing hard, Dean falls back on the bed. 'Fine, fine, you can play.'
'What about you?' Steve asks. 'You can hustle pool and darts, can you play the guitar too?'
'Nope, never had the chance to learn,' Dean answers.
Getting up Steve gets out another of his guitars handing it off to Dean.
'How many of these do you have?' Dean asks with a laugh.
'With me or all together?' Steve grins, feeling pretty mellow and happy with the company.
Laughing more Dean shakes his head at his friends antics.
Noodling around with the guitars, Steve shows Dean a couple of chords and how to pick out a melody. 'Now you know enough to pick-up some little groupies of your own.' He tells him.
The six pack and half the bottle of Jack later they've put up the guitars and are leaning against the headboard, side by side, handing the bottle back and forth. They share a rambling conversation, alcohol making them honest and the new friendship they feel making them share things they normally wouldn't.
'I couldn't believe it when my dad told Sam not to come back if he left. Family is the most important thing. If he can tell Sammy to leave and not come back, what's he gonna do if I piss him off?'
'My friendship with Chris is the best and most important relationship I've ever had in my life. I never want to have to choose between him and a lover.'
'He doesn’t know where the money comes from but I've sent Sammy every penny I ever managed to save.'
'I write music I never show the guys in the band, especially not Chris. I wanna be like Leon Russell man.'
'I want more out of life than I've got and I'm afraid I'm never going to get it.'
The sun is starting to lighten the curtains when Dean downs the last swallow from the bottle. Steve had passed out next to him mid-word and he figured now was as good a time as any to attempt to get back to his room. Rolling to the edge of the bed he contemplated the distance to the floor. It was much to far. The last thing he thought before conciseness fled was this would really give John a reason to be pissy.
*&*&*&*&
With Sammy at Stanford, Dean feels compelled to stay near the west coast; only occasionally venturing eastward. John's never said anything, but Dean's sure he knows why he passes on so many jobs that would take him away for an extended time. How can he look after his brother if he's half a continent away?
He's taken to scanning local paper's entertainment sections and bar room fliers wherever he's at. If Kane is playing anywhere nearby he tries to stop by to have a drink with Steve. He still hasn't managed to catch a show though, and it's become a running joke between them.
No matter where he turns up, Steve never questions why he's there. Just greets him with a grin, happy to see him. Dean can't remember what he may have said about his life that night in Oregon, but he suspects Steve may think he's some kind of criminal.
Steve thinks things are going pretty good with the band, but he knows Chris wants something bigger. They've been touring on and off for what seems like forever. The band finally has a solid following all along the west coast. They even have a regular gig at the Viper Room.
Random meetings with Dean have become one of the highlights of touring. He loves the crowds and the applause and people singing their songs along with them will never stop being cool, but hanging out with Dean has become a spot of normalcy in the craziness of life on the road.
He's never asked Dean why he turns up so many different places. Just greets him with a grin, happy to see him. He's afraid if Dean confirmed his theory that the younger man is some kind of criminal that would be the last time Steve would see him. He's not ashamed to admit he's selfish and doesn't want to loose a friend.
&*&*&*&*&*
Steve has no idea why the hell he's in Nashville of all places. Actually, he does know why he's in Tennessee, Christian Fucking Kane. The record labels had come calling so they'd packed it up and moved east. Turned out the labels were only interested in Chris, the rest of the band was incidental.
It was bullshit as far as Steve was concerned. Kane was him and Chris and that was all there was too it. No record company was going to break them up if he had anything to say about it. And fuck Chris for only wanting the fame. It didn't help that Chris' new flavor of the week, Whitney, was a singer too. The labels were panting over what a perfect duo they would make.
He spots a bar with a motel nearby. Getting too drunk to remember how to drive sounds pretty damn good. It's a weeknight and only a handful of diehard drinkers are at the bar. Scanning the crowd out of habit, he spots the back of a familiar dirty blond head. As he approaches the bar he catches the man's reflection in the bar mirror, confirming his identity.
'Dean, hey man, what're you doing out here?' Surprise animates his tired voice.
Dean had only come out to Tennessee to deal with a nest of kobalds because John was working a case in California. He didn't like to leave his brother alone on the coast. Even though Sam never knew he was there, Dean knew someone was there to watch over him.
He hadn't heard from his dad in over a week. No bodies matching John's description had turned up in the area he was hunting and none of their distress signals had been tripped. Anything that could disappear John Winchester wasn't anything Dean wanted to tackle alone. He didn't want to do it, but he was afraid he was gonna have to ask Sammy for help. He'd hit the bar with the intention of one last toast to keeping Sammy out of the life.
At the sound of his name in a familiar voice Dean swivels on his stool, 'Steve,' he dredges up a smile, 'good to see you.'
Settling next to his friend at the bar Steve waves to the bartender, 'Whiskey, neat,' he orders. 'Damn man, I haven't seen you in awhile. What brings you so far east?'
Dean shrugs, 'Work ya know. What about you? Thought you were a west coast boy.'
It's Steve's turn to shrug, 'Nashville called.'
A genuine smile breaks across Dean's features, 'Well alright then,' he slaps his friend on the shoulder, 'we should celebrate.'
'Nuthin' to celebrate man.' Steve knocks back his drink, waving for another, 'Nashville may have called, but they only want Chris to answer.'
'Damn, that sucks out loud man. Even more reason to drink.' Dean waves his glass to the bartender.
'How's your brother doing? He still at school?' Steve asks, trying to steer the conversation away from problems he's tired of dealing with.
Dean grimaces, sipping is new drink, 'He's doing great. Gonna be taking his LSAT's soon.'
'You don't look too happy,' Steve observes.
With a tired sigh, Dean props his chin on a fist, 'I am happy for him, but our dad's messing shit up.'
'Well, if that ain't a reason to drink I don't know one,' Steve raises his glass in a toast.
A couple of shots turns into just leave the bottle. They don't talk much, both too lost in their own misery. By last call the bartender is giving them concerned looks, they'd managed to finish off two bottles between them.
Dean waves off the offer of a cab, grabbing Steve's arm and steering him toward the door. 'Don' worry, ain' no one driving,' he tells the bartender.
Leaning heavily on each other they mange a drunken sway to Dean's room. Key fumbling in the lock, they nearly fall over as the door pops open.
'You are a good friend,' Steve enunciates carefully, patting Dean's shoulder as he maneuvers to the unused bed.
'So'r you man,' Dean mumbles, slumped on his bed trying to work off his boots. Giving it up as a lost cause he flops back, passing out to the sounds of Steve's soft snoring.
*&*&*&*&
It's loud and crowded in the bar. The first set had kicked ass and Steve was working his way through the crowd to the bar to grab a drink, stopping to shake hands and accept praise along the way. He spies a familiar figure leaning back against the bar, grinning at his approach.
'Shit man!' He grabs Dean in a back-slapping hug, he's high on the adrenaline of the show and it's been nearly a year since he's seen his friend. 'it's been forever! You catch the show?'
'Yeah man, you guys are pretty good for a country band,' Dean smirks.
'Country with a little gasoline asshole,' Steve smirks back, smacking Dean's shoulder. 'So, what're you doing here?'
'Came to see you play dude.' Dean says, 'duh' audible in his voice.
'You never come to a show man, you're allergic to country music,' Steve laughs.
'Shit,' Dean drawls, 'saw your name on the marquee and had to stop man, it's been way to long.'
'Well damn, it's good to see you. You're looking good, how's life treating you? How's your brother? He a big shot lawyer yet?' Steve peppers Dean with rapid fire questions.
'Naw,' Dean laughs at Steve's enthusiasm. It's been way too long since he's seen the man and he'd missed his friend. 'Shit happened ya know. He's actually in a booth in the back.' Dean's grin turns evil, 'bout blew his little emo-music listening mind, me dragging him in here with a country band playing. Speaking of, what happened with Nashville?'
Steve's grin got even bigger, 'Nashville may have only wanted Chris, but he told 'em it was alla Kane or nuthin'. Shocked the shit outta me. I thought he wanted the fame more than anything.'
'Well hell,' Dean shakes his head, 'that is a damn good friend.'
'Yep,' Steve's smile turned fond. 'Anyway, we managed to get signed with an indy country label. Got a cd coming out soon and everything.'
'Hot damn!' Dean punches him in the shoulder, 'Got me a big time star for a friend now! Buy me a shot to celebrate!'
Steve laughs at Dean, 'Dude, big time star ain't happening. Still gotta share a damned motel room when we're on the road.' Taking a long drink of the beer the bartender handed him, he asks, 'You staying for the second set?'
'I'd like to man, but I can see the princess is beckoning,' Dean gestures to where he sees Sam making his way through the crowded bar toward him. He's making what Dean privately refers to as bitch-face number 3 - 'let's go'. He shakes his head, 'I'm sorry, I gotta take off, got a thing ya know.'
Turning Steve looks in the direction Dean gestured. 'Damn, you weren't kidding 'bout how tall he is,' he laughs. 'We're playing here again tomorrow night. Come back and I'll put you on the list, get you in free.'
'Dude,' Dean grins at the thought, 'that would be epic. Talk about blowing Sammy's mind.'
Sam has made it part way through the crowd as Dean clasps Steve's hand. 'We'll be here, put us both down on the list. That'll freak him out.'
Steve laughs, 'Alright man, you'd better show up!'
'Wouldn't miss it.' Thunking his empty glass on the bar Dean pulls Steve into a quick hug, 'See ya tomorrow night then,' he calls as he turns to take off.
'Who the hell was that?' Is growled from behind Steve, making him jump.
'Shit, Chris, don't sneak up on me,' he says turning round.
Chris is making his own version of bitch-face at Steve, 'M not sneaking. Who was that?'
Chris' tone combined with his expression piss Steve off just enough to make him want to mess with him. 'Just some guy, told me how great he thought I was tonight. He said he'd be at the show tomorrow. Got his phone number.'
The sour look on Chris' face is worth the lie. 'Well come on,' Chris growls, 'I wanna move the monitors, I keep getting feedback.'
Suppressing a smirk at Chris' discomfort Steve follows him back to the stage.
&*&*&*&*&*&*
Chris is working the crowd between sets when he sees the guy from last night. He's at the bar with a damn tall dude he remembers seeing in the crowd from the night before as well.
He knows he was an ass to Steve over the guy last night, and he'd rather not examine why. He doesn't swing that way like Steve can, but that doesn't mean he wants anyone messing with his best friend.
Deciding to take the bull by the horns and play nice he approaches the pair. 'You boys big fans or something? I swear I seen y’all last night.'
Dean's lip curls in a smirk designed to wind people up, he recognizes the guy from on stage and figures this must be the elusive Chris that Steve has been complaining about for the length of their friendship. 'Nope,' he answers.
'I'm sure I remember you,' Chris points at Sam, 'You're too damn big to forget.'
Sam blushes and stutters as Dean laughs. The night is turning out great for tweaking Sam's chain, first the thing at the door with Sam's incredulous looks at their being on the guest list and now this.
Approaching the trio, Steve ignores Chris completely, pulling Dean into a back-slapping hug, 'Glad you made it man.'
'Hell yeah, wouldn't miss it.' Dean returns the hug with enthusiasm, anything to tweak his brother. Winding up the scowling redneck in their midst is just a bonus. 'You seriously rocked up there.'
Dean's smirk deepens in satisfaction at the confused look on Sam's face and the annoyed look on Chris'.
'I thought you said you'd never seen us before?' Chris accuses. 'How do you know Steve?'
'I said I'm not a big fan.' Dean points out, voice pitched deliberately to wind Chris up.
Chris' face twists in a sour scowl. Steve shoots a frown of disapproval Chris' way, then continues to ignore him. If he got upset every time Chris did he'd have an ulcer. Besides, over the years he'd found that ignoring it helped to diffuse Chris' 'situations'.
'How long you known Steve for then?' Chris asks, trying for a civil tone, aware of the disapproval Steve is projecting his way.
'It's been what, three years?' Dean asks Steve.
'Something like that,' Steve agrees. 'We meet in bay area I think. Before we started touring up into Oregon and Washington anyway.'
'That's right,' Dean continues, falling into Steve's rhythm as easily as they've ever fallen into the rhythm of hustling pool or darts. 'Sam was still at Stanford.'
'Yeah,' Steve says with a smile. 'Speaking of, you ever gonna introduce me to your brother?'
'Seems like he doesn't need to,' Sam interrupts. 'You already know who I am,' he shoots a bitchy look Dean's way. 'And I have no clue who you are.'
Dean makes a sweeping gesture of introduction, 'Sam, this is my good buddy Steve Carlson, the rock star.'
'Country star, dumb-ass,' Steve smiles.
'Sorry, country music big shot,' Dean apologizes with mock sincerity. 'Steve, this is my little brother Sammy Winchester.'
'Sam,' Sam automatically corrects his brother.
'Good to meet ya,' Steve holds out his hand in a polite handshake.
Sam's still a little annoyed, but pulls out the good manners, returning the handshake, 'Nice to meet you too.'
'And this,' Steve says, gesturing to the man across from him, 'is Christian Kane, bane of my existence, singer in my band.'
'Hey, it's my band,' Chris grumbles, but shakes hands all 'round. He's calmed down, but still, he doesn't like this, Steve is his friend damn it. Who the hell is this guy?
'Dean, gimme a hand with the beer and shots would ya,' Steve asks. Turning, he motions to Chris, 'You and Sam grab a table, we got a break and I wanna drink.'
With a sarcastic salute Chris turns to work his way through the crowd to the tables in the back. After shooting an exasperated look his brothers way Sam follows.
'So,' Dean says, 'that's Chris huh?'
'Yep,' says Steve, ordering a couple of pitchers of beer and a tray of shots from the bartender, 'the one and only.'
'Kinda a dick ain't he,' Dean observes.
'Yeah, but only when he thinks I'm trying to pick up a guy.' Steve's got a fond smile on his face.
'Seriously?' Dean asks, 'ain't that a little odd?'
'Yep, it drives him nuts, but he'll never admit it.' Steve's smile turns evil, 'I know it's wrong, but when the man pisses me off I like to let him think every guy I talk too is a potential one night stand.'
'Dude,' Dean grins, 'that is fucked up.'
'Welcome to my life,' Steve says with a matching grin.
Drinks in hand they work their way back to Chris and Sam. The two seem to be getting along as well as two strangers can.
Settling in at the table Steve and Dean get glasses passed out and beer poured. Chris raises his traditional first shot to the band, and they all knock back their drinks with a hearty 'here, here'. Dean follows that up with a toast to meeting up with old friends, Sam adding in meeting new friends and they knock back the shot with a laugh.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand Chris asks, 'Whadda you boys do then?'
Steve, enjoying winding Chris up, jumps in with an answer before Dean or Sam can spin a story, 'They're criminals dumb-ass, con-men and pool hustlers.'
Sam gets a pained look on his face as Dean and Steve crack-up laughing. Chris scowls at Steve, kicking him under the table. 'Stop being a fuckin' dick dude,' he growls.
'Sorry, sorry,' Steve laughs, 'you had it coming for being a dick last night.'
'Fine,' Chris grumps, 'truce.'
'Truce,' Steve agrees.
Turning to Dean, Chris asks, 'How is it we never meet then?'
'Just lucky I guess,' Dean replies with a shrug.
'If you weren't off banging every groupie that gave you the eye you'da meet long ago.' Steve points out.
Steve's tone is light, but Chris can hear a thread of anger and hurt under it. At a loss as to why, all he can do is play along with the teasing. 'You're just jealous that even playing for both teams you ain't getting it as regular as me,' he grins.
'Yeah, that's got to be it.' Steve grins back with a tip of his glass in a toast. 'Sorry man,' Steve gives Sam an apologetic look, working to lighten his mood, 'he brings out the best in me, what can I say.'
Sam just grins back, shaking his head bemused. It's a little surreal, seeing this side of his brother. He can't remember ever hanging out with people Dean considered friends. He thinks he'd like to get to know this version of the man that's his brother.
'So, how did you meet Steve then?' Chris asks, trying a different tack to get information about this stranger that Steve considers a friend.
Dean shrugs and answers, 'I was trying to relax with a drink when this surfer-movie reject and his big ego wanted to know if I'd seen him play.'
Steve swats at his friend in mock anger, 'Hey now, who's got the big ego, mister pool shark'
'Damn right,' Dean grins. He turns to Chris, continuing. 'We been running into each other on and off for years now. Turns out his big ego is warranted. The boy can play.'
'Well thank you,' Steve says with a grin that turns to a leer, 'You're not so bad yourself.'
Dean leers right back with a predatory look on his face.
Sam can feel his eyes widen in surprise. He has never seen Dean flirt with a guy before and it's further altering his perception of his brother.
'What?' Dean glares at his brother, 'can't a man have a good time with his buddies?'
Sam sputters, hiding behind his beer and Dean's glare morphs to a grin at his little brother's discomfort. It was always a thrill to rile up Sammy.
Leaning over Sam's way Chris says in a conspiratorial whisper, 'Welcome to my hell. Swear to God the man can't not make eyes at every dude he sees.'
'Hey! I take offense at that,' Steve says in mock anger, 'who is it runs off with every girl who looks his way?'
'That'd be me,' Chris grins unrepentant. 'You grab your share of girls too, ya greedy bastard.'
'A toast to Steve, the degenerate bastard,' Dean raises his glass and the other two follow suit, Sam with an amused look and Chris with an evil grin.
'Hey now,' Steve sputters, embarrassment coloring his cheeks, smacking shoulders and kicking shins.
'What are you 8? Kicking us under the table' Chris grumbles good naturedly.
'Drink up boys,' the sound guy calls out as he passes by their table on the way to his booth, 'ya gotta be back on in like 5.'
Chris and Steve knock back their shots in unison. 'Hang around, we'll party after the show, Chris knows all the easiest groupies,' Steve says with an easy teasing tone as he stands.
'Yeah Sammy,' Dean elbows his brother in the side, 'maybe you'll get lucky.'
'Yeah, lucky to get herpes!' Steve calls with a hoot of laughter.
'Hey, that was just the one time' Chris defends himself with a glare.
With a tumble of laughter the guys haul themselves back on stage.
fin.
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