New Year's Kiss
“DEAN!”
Dean jerked awake as the pen stand kept precariously close to his left elbow clattered to the floor, while his right hand flopped around in something cold and wet… and sticky. Raucous laughter followed.
“Son of a bitch!” Dean swore snapping his eyes open. The harsh glare of his desk lamp met his sleep-sensitive eyes and he was forced to shut them back. He turned his head towards the source of noise and blinked his eyes open. “What the hell, Sam?” he addressed the source of the noise, unconsciously wiping the sticky hand across his face.
More laughter followed.
“Bitch!” Dean muttered glaring at his giant-of-a-man-child brother and his partner-in-crime, Nick.
“Jerk!” was ineffectually thrown back him, while Nick clicked his tongue in a “not me” way.
“Gum? Really?” Dean stared at his hand, as the brain fog finally cleared. “What are you doing here?”
“I was looking for a beer,” Sam replied shrugging.
Dean rolled his eyes. “You know that excuse would’ve actually worked if I didn’t live above a bar. What are you really doing here?”
“You weren’t answering my calls,” Sam bitch-faced whiningly.
“I was working,” Dean stated.
“I was working,” Sam repeated mockingly. “You’re always working. It’s New Year’s Eve for fuck’s sake! There’s a party going on not 3 stories down… with lots of single, hot, drunk girls and boys dying to find their “one true love” (‘Air quotes, really?’ Dean thought) on New Year’s Eve and you are sitting in this shitty apartment…” (“Hey! I take offence in that!” Nick quipped) “…Working?”
Dean sighed, “I am not interested. You go on…”
Sam exhaled and pointedly looked at Nick. Nick was staring back, his face as calm as the ocean before storm. Dean could practically hear them thinking, “It shouldn’t have come to this…” even as to two strong pairs of hands gripped him tight, raised him off his stool and dragged him away from his drawing board.
“Okay… okay… OKAY!” Dean yelled. The hands immediately drew back and he almost collapsed. Sam reached out to steady him. “Thanks.” He sighed. He was powerless when these two idiots ganged up on him. He shouldn’t have introduced them in the first place. “Give me ten minutes.”
Sam nodded. “Don’t be late,” he turned and stocked back downstairs. Dean looked at his room-mate, but Nick raised his hands in defeat. “You heard him,” with that he too turned and followed Sam.
Dean surveyed the mess the idiots had made. The liquid gum on his desk was already drying into flakes, as was the gum on his hand. Thankfully Sam had enough brains to pick up his work sketches beforehand, so they were safe, but the half-drawn outline of Princess Leia’s boobs he was working on before falling asleep was completely ruined. The chipped plastic glass which doubled as pen stand was lying on the floor, its contents scattered around the room.
He contemplated going back to sleep, but Nick had the keys and Sam was not above kicking the door down. He sighed and made his way towards the bathroom. He would clean this up tomorrow.
---
“Hey Dean!” A cute blonde in white sun-dress bounded up to him and engulfed him in tight hug. She was surprisingly strong for someone so small. Must have something to do with having a fucking Sasquatch for a boyfriend.
“Hey Jess,” Dean said, hugging her back. “I didn’t realize you’d be here too.”
Jess stepped back and shrugged, “It’s New Years. Where else would I be?”
Dean sighed. Another sad reminder that Jess was all alone… like them. Maybe that’s why they all got along so well. “C’mon,” Dean said smiling “I’m thirsty.” And with the girl firmly attached to his side, they made their way to the back tables where his “family” waited.
McClaren’s was a regular café-bar. Tables arranged in two rows in the middle of the room with a bar upfront. But tonight all the tables were pushed to the walls and space was cleared to form a small makeshift dancefloor. The theme was, for some reason, 80s. An ancient disco ball was suspended from the roof. Disco music from the same era was blasting through the speakers. And dozen half-drunk couples were gyrating to it.
Dean separated Jess from his side and slipped in their regular booth beside Nick. Jess took her usual spot beside Sam. “Oh God, I’ve missed this place,” were the first words from her mouth.
Dean smiled. “I’ve missed you, too,” he replied. Jess turned her sweet sweet smile on him. “You know… you’re totally out of my brother’s league,” he added. “How’ve you been?”
It took about 10 minutes to fill him up with what he had missed since the last time they spoke. Which was last night, when Sam had called to tell him, “they WEREN’T coming, coz he had some extra lectures.”
Sam was a pre-law/Business major at ROSS, and Jess, English lit/art major with affinity for welded rusty car-part sculptures - Dean’s guilty obsession - had been his girlfriend since their first year. They had been together for almost two years now and were still very much in love. Hell, Sam had told Dean, he was thinking about proposing.
“So, Dean!” Jess called for his attention, “Sammy told me you were working on something when he found you. Wanna tell me about it?” And thanking the heavens that Sammy hadn’t seen his last sketch, he launched into an extensive explanation about how he was trying to design fuel efficient engines for the new Chevy line which would run part on solar energy and part on gas. Jess listened intently, which was another reason Dean loved her, while Sam drifted away and Nick literally drifted away in direction of the hot girl sitting alone by the bar.
---
It was almost 15 minutes to midnight when Nick found him again. Sam and Jess had joined the half-buzzed couples on the now-crowded dancefloor and Dean was sitting by himself drinking and lamenting over yet another broken relationship, the main reason he wanted to stay in.
“Wanna dance?” Nick asked extending his hand. Dean laughed and took it, “Sure, honey!” he replied batting his eyes exaggeratedly. He rose to his feet and followed his partner to the floor.
To say that Nick Monroe had picked Dean Winchester up in the men’s room of this very bar would be a gross understatement. Sure, they had met in the men’s room and Nick had practically stalked him to say ‘yes’, but that was only because he was looking for a wingman to help him pick some chick at the bar. The mission had failed, but the friendship stuck. He and Dean spent that night talking and the next fucking. It hadn’t hurt that Nick got along with both Sam and Jess. He adored Jess, and he and Sam were practically attached at hips when they were together… like today. “The Trickster and the Devil,” Dean called the duo. He and Nick had been together for almost 8 months, even moving in together, until they realized they were better at being friends than a couple. They still stayed together but the bedrooms had separated.
The speakers were blasting some 80s abomination when Nick invaded Dean’s personal space and whispered, “almost time” in his ear. Dean looked at his watch, 2 minutes to go. He looked around. Sam and Jess were having a dress rehearsal for their “3rd Annual New Year’s Kiss” and Nick had turned away to chat up his earlier bar-girl hoping for the midnight kiss and then some. Dean sighed and wished Carmen was around.
“And now…” Bartender Whiskey Pete’s voice was heard as the music stilled and the PA system cackled. “The ball drops in 60 seconds. So grab your partners and get in ready in 50…49…48…”
Dean looked around looking to find someone…anyone. “30…29…28…” He had come to the bar and it had taken effort. He would be damned if he didn’t get that sacred kiss. “20… 19…18…” The lights started dimming. He looked towards Nick but he was nowhere to be seen. Apparently his New Year had already started. “10…9…8…” No time to think. Dean shot out his hand and grabbed the first person in front of him. “5…4…” “What are you…” “2… and a HAPPY NEW YEAR!” Somewhere fireworks started as Dean pulled in the person he’d grabbed for a quick chaste kiss. As their lips touched, a strange electrical impulse reverberated throughout his body. A soft throaty gasp was heard on the other end. Dean could feel the prickly stubble, so it was a guy. Dean prayed that the guy had a sense of humour. If not, it was better to make his escape before he got punched in the face. He released the man and stepped back a couple of paces before the lights came back again. Then he turned and made his way to the bar, shaking with laughter. This was the most impulsive thing he had done in a long long long time.
---
It was almost an hour past the midnight and the crowd had thinned considerably. They were closing in about half-an-hour. Dean was sleepy but Nick had messaged that the bar-girl was upstairs and Sam and Jess had taken over his bedroom. Which meant Dean would have to take the couch.
Only he wasn’t really comfortable with the idea of spending the night on the living room couch while myriad voices coming from both the bedrooms reminded him how pathetic his life was. He exhaled and signaled Whiskey Pete for a whiskey, “neat.”
“Hey! Have you seen Becky?”
Dean turned. A lanky man in bargain bin clothes and week’s worth of beard was standing beside him. He was swaying on his feet, and by the looks of it, totally sloshed.
“How does she look?” Dean asked.
“Uh… She’s blonde?” The guy supplied helpfully. Dean wasn’t sure if he was asking or telling. He rotated his stool till he was facing the room. There were about 20 blondes in various shapes and sizes. “No…” he said turning to the man beside him. “I guess not.”
The man visibly relaxed. “Thanks, man!” and took the seat beside him. “Hey, I need vodka before Becky comes back.”
Pete gave him “the look”, filled a shot glass and slid it over. The man turned to Dean and toasted, “To friends who aren’t here.” Dean clicked their glasses with “Cheers.”
***
When Dean woke up with a throbbing headache and a too loud crinkling in his ears, he was propped up against the wall, in a darkened bar, with a small bearded head on his lap. The head was attached to a thin shabby guy in bargain bin clothes. Dean slowly pushed the head aside and unsteadily stood up. He was going to sleep till tomorrow. Thank goodness, he worked from home. He turned to look at the guy and saw a white hospital band on his outstretched arm.
“Son of a bitch!” he squatted down and peered at the band. It was too dark to see anything. He slowly stood up and walked to the window, and slightly pulled back the curtains. Thankfully, the day had barely started and he was spared the harsh glare of the morning sun.
He walked back to the man, squatted and twisted his arm to read the tag. “Hi! I’m Chuck Shurley. If you find me and I’m still breathing, call my girlfriend Becky so she can kill me,” was written in a shaky impatient handwriting. Below it was a number written in a steadier hand. ‘That must be Becky,’ Dean thought. He checked to see if Chuck was indeed alive and dialed.
“Hello?” a sleepy high-pitched voice answered on third ring.
“Becky?”
“Yeah? Who’s this?”
“Dean. Winchester. It seems I found your boyfriend.”
“Oh thank God! Where are you?”
“McClarens. At the corner of…”
“Yeah, yeah. I know where it is. Just wait there. I’ll be there in 20.” The line disconnected. Dean sat back down beside Chuck and waited.
Contrary to her word, Becky arrived in 15 minutes, harried and scared. Her mousy blonde hair was disheveled and she had just thrown a coat over her PJs. “I’m going to kill the asshole,” were the first words out of her mouth as she walked up to them - Thank God, Pete knew him and had kept the place unlocked - and nudged him with her shoe. “Get up, you ass.”
The boyfriend snored and murmured something incoherent. “Can you help me drag him out?” she asked Dean, batting her large brown eyes at him. Dean nodded. “Grab your coat. It’s too cold outside,” Becky added.
Dean looked around. He didn’t know where it was… mostly Sam or Nick had taken it with them. But there was a large traveling raincoat draped across a chair. He walked over and picked it up. The fabric felt soft and warm about him. It had that well-used, well-maintained and extremely loved feel to it. Just like Dean and his baby.
He walked back to Becky, helped her raise Chuck to his feet and slowly helped him out to their car. “Are you sure you’ll be fine?” he asked once Chuck was safely laid in the backseat. “Yeah… he always does this when he’s working on a new novel,” Becky replied. “He’s a writer!” she added unnecessarily, as if it wasn’t obvious with the previous statement.
“Good,” Dean nodded. It was too early and he was too hung over for pleasantries. “Take care,” with that he turned and made his way to his apartment. Couch or not, he was gonna sleep till tomorrow.
---
“You did WHAT!” Sam screamed.
“Seriously dude! Shut up!” Dean whispered urgently. He had come back at five-ish and dropped dead on the couch. Now it was almost mid-afternoon and he was propped against his headboard looking at the traitors who had so mercilessly abandoned him last night.
Thankfully, Jess had stripped the sheets and cleaned up her boyfriend’s prank mess too. “You really are an angel,” Dean said hugging her. He really did not want to deal with his brother’s mystery stains while nursing a hangover. But that wasn’t all she had done. First she had found his ruined sketch and showed it to both the idiots and all three had collectively come to the conclusion that the boobs were just not right. Jess had shown extreme disappointment about that, muttering something along the lines of “You were our only hope, Obi wan Kenobi…” while handing him his lemonade. Sam and Nick had disowned him until Jess found the trenchcoat and the interrogation started.
After that one thing lead to another and Dean found himself spilling about the kiss. And now he regretted opening his big mouth. They weren’t gonna stop ribbing him at least until the world ended.
“Molesting a random dude in a bar,” Jess spoke up. “That’s something I’d expect Nick to do. Not you!”
“Hey, I take offence in that!” Nick quipped, but all three glared at him. “Okay, maybe not. Actually that’s an excellent idea,” he said winking exaggeratedly at Sam and making kissing noises. Sam replied by puckering his lips and sealing the fake kiss.
Dean rolled his eyes. Sometimes he felt like he was surrounded by over-grown teenagers.
“So how was it?” Jess asked.
“Electrifying!” Dean grinned truthfully. He slowly, deliberately licked his lips to drive the point home. Sam shuddered and Nick snorted. Mission accomplished. “So Nick…” Dean turned to his roommate, “How was the girlfriend experience?” he asked changing the topic.
---
The rest of the afternoon… and the weekend… passed very quickly. They watched the new Syfy disasters - he liked Stonehenge Apocalypse, the scientist was kinda cute - collectively agreed that The Avengers was the best thing ever to hit the theatres… second to none and that the new Princess Leia sketch that Dean had drawn was “just perfect!”
“Keep writing,” Dean said hugging his brother on Sunday evening. Sam sniffed against his shoulder. “Seriously, Sam this gets anymore sappy your dick’s gonna fall off,” Dean teased. Goodbyes were hard. Even though they stayed barely 50 miles from each other and emailed and talked almost every night, it still was hard saying goodbye. Sam snorted and pushed him back.
He and Sammy had always been too close with each other. It was inevitable, really. Orphaned at a really young age, 4 years and 6 months respectively, they had been raised by their godfather, Uncle Bobby, a half-drunk workaholic mechanic who spent all his waking hours either working in his garage or drinking and yelling. He was a good sort and loved them to death, but he was horrible at raising kids and when Dean was old enough, 9 years, he had started looking after his brother. Heck, he had practically raised Sammy and, from the looks of it, done a half decent job, though he still had his doubts.
Which was why it had been so difficult to leave Sammy behind when he started as the engine designer at the Chevy plant in Flint, MI. But they had gotten around that by e-mailing back and forth every tiny detail of their lives and following up with phone calls in case they missed something. And thrice a week they had video-conference dinners. That last part had been too much for Dean’s then girlfriend Lisa, who finally admitted that she couldn’t handle Dean emailing every last detail of their every last encounter to his brother and had dumped him with, “If you can find someone who can handle your semi-incestuous relationship with your brother, consider yourself very very lucky and don’t ever let her go. But it’s not me.”
That is why Dean really loved Jess. Not only had she “handled” their relationship well, after their first hesitant and awkward video-conference family dinner, where Dean had met her for the first time, even she had joined them. She was smart, artistic, really beautiful and perfect for his brother in every way. Sometimes he wished he too had what Sam and Jess had, but after tons of failed relationships, he had finally begun to think it just wasn’t for him. Still, he was really happy for Sammy.
“Goodbye Nick,” Sam turned to hug his best friend. Nick stepped back as the big lug came barreling towards him, “Keep your hands to yourself, you oaf!” Sam grinned. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not my type,” he retorted.
“Goodbye Nikki,” Jess hugged and kissed Nick. Nick smiled and kissed her on the forehead, “Talk later, babe.” Nick and Jess were another surprise pairing. After their initial hang-ups, not only had they become close, Nick treated her like his kid sister. “Keep in touch,” Jess hugged Dean and kissed his cheek. “And send me those sketches. I want to see if I can use your piston diagrams to create my final project.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, but Dean shrugged. He and Jess spoke engines, like Sam and Nick spoke douche. Besides, she didn’t want Sam to know about her final project until it was completely finished and Dean had volunteered his old college sketchbook.
“Goodbye Sammy,” Dean said as they got into the car and started the engine. “Take care of my baby.” Dean had restored the car, a decent 4G Camaro convo, from ground up as Sammy’s graduation present, and it still was his proudest accomplishment. “Goodbye Dean,” Sam shouted from the driver’s seat. The car started and Jess turned around, waving back at them till they were out of eye-shot.
Dean sighed and turned around, as Nick’s arm draped across his shoulders, to go back to his blank drawing board and his empty apartment.
[ The Final Act]
A/N: I don't normally do this, but my muse started singing when I was sitting in a coffee shop, writing the second part, and I couldn't help myself. I am sorry to spoil the climatic build-up, but I hope the scene purges itself. Thanks!