*Technical difficulties with this chapter resulted in FF losing it for a time. It is now re-uploaded. Please let me know if there are further problems with this chapter as it was taken from an older file. Sorry for the delay!

Part 7: Surprise!

Addiction. That's what Sasha had called Dean. An addiction that could only be satiated by physical contact. Maybe Dean was becoming addicted too, because with Sasha gone a whole week he should have been able to easily put the incubus out of mind, but he couldn't. He couldn't stop thinking about Sasha, whether he was downing Manfred's special coffee, listing to music in Manfred's living room, or even watching the few home videos Sam managed to get working.

Sam had been pretty disappointed when most of the tapes ended up being a bust. A couple even looked halfway to melted. That figured, though, considering nothing had managed to survive the fire except for the very few things kept in their garage. But John had been a mechanic. The garage was never used for storage. That was what basements were for. Dean had remembered though that his dad kept the guitar in the garage, away from the damp cold. He hadn't expected anything else from their old lives to have survived, but apparently the videos had been kept in the garage too.

The TV Dean remembered from later. Much later. Something their dad had bought to occupy little Sam and Dean while he began his research into the paranormal. If Dean thought about it, he actually kind of hated that TV. He was glad they would be leaving it behind when they went to pick up Sasha.

Sasha. Dean wondered what Sasha had done to pass the time with his aunt in Seattle. Sasha would already be on the bus, headed back to them by now, and they were going to pick him up the next afternoon. It had ended up being closer to two weeks really since they had dropped him off sooner but forgotten to count the travel time. Sasha's aunt refused to have her time cut short so getting back early wasn't an option. Sasha would be back the day of his birthday and that just had to be good enough.

Damn, Dean had done it again. He could have sworn he had been thinking about something else but then his mind, inevitably, drifted to Sasha.

Dean stared up at the ceiling, trying to sleep but too anxious for tomorrow. He had taken the same room in Manfred's house as he did last time, the usually unused guest bed musty but better than half the beds Dean usually slept on. Still, they had already decided to check into a motel after picking Sasha up, not wanting to inconvenience Manfred any longer, and considering they planned to be out pretty late the next night. Dean had already picked out a place for them to go in celebration of the incubus' milestone. He didn't mind the city too much as long as he wasn't driving.

Eyes heavy but brain still buzzing, Dean finally started to drift off to sleep, telling himself again and again that it was silly to be so excited to see Sasha. Silly to miss someone so much. He was lucky as hell Sam hadn't said anything all week even though the taller and forever nosier Winchester had looked like he was about to say something several times. Dean didn't know how he would have responded. Admitting his infatuation for Sasha just wouldn't come out easily no matter how enlightened Sam might be as a human being. It's not like Dean could tell his brother casually about how much he enjoyed Sasha's kisses.

He did though. Enjoy them. A lot.

Dean also really liked the way Sasha's tongue felt on his collar bone.

Green eyes sprang open. Well, not actually, which Dean was only mildly aware of, but in the dream, a very overdo dream since Dean had been thinking about Sasha so much. Whether real or not, some form of Sasha was sprawled lazily on top of Dean, hardly clothed if clothed at all, and licking a wet trail along Dean's clavicle.

Dean couldn't imagine there was anything to be afraid of in this dream, not anymore. Oh, he was often still afraid, especially with how much heat stared back at him whenever he looked Sasha in the eyes lately, but it was different now. So different.

"Dean…" Sasha breathed against his neck.

"Yeah…?"

Slowly, Sasha's nose bumped up along the line of Dean's jaw, breathing in Dean's scent deeply, and then the incubus was looking down at him, their faces painfully close, "You know the thing about moving slow, Dean?"

Dean blinked heavily up at Sasha. "Hmm?"

Sasha grinned. "The thing about moving slow is…you still have to move forward."

While it did not appear that Sasha moved, looking down at Dean with that beautiful smile, Dean felt Sasha's hand begin to ghost its way down his ribs, making him tense at the slight tickle. But the hand didn't stop. Soft fingers smoothed down across Dean's hips, his thigh, and then up again, grazing more and more sensitive areas until…

"Hahaha…"

Dean had started to close his eyes under Sasha's ministrations but now they widened, knowing that sound, that particular laugh. Above Dean, Sasha looked frightened too, something that bothered Dean so much more than his own fear.

No, it wasn't fair. This part of the dream was Dean's. This part was sacred and safe.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sasha whispered, blue eyes swimming with fear and regret, "I thought we had more time."

The laughter continued, growing louder, raking Dean's ears as it bounced off the walls that didn't exist. There were no walls. There was no bed. Everything around Dean was black and empty. Only Sasha was whole. Only Sasha was real and solid against him. Only Sasha…

…and Sam.

Dean turned to find the form of his brother, the source of that horrible laugh, and saw Sam right there at the edge of where the bed should be, standing in the darkness. It seemed to emanate from him, to originate from some greater darkness inside him. His eyes were that horrible mottled yellow, his mouth open as he laughed.

"Sammy…"

"You know you can't escape it, Dean," said a voice, close beside Dean but not from Sasha and not from Sam. This voice was so familiar that Dean couldn't possibly have recognized it for what it was until he turned to look at the other side of the bed and met black demon eyes.

And his own smirking face.

"Face it, Dean," said Dean's lips with Dean's voice, "You don't deserve this. You don't deserve anything. Everything you are, everything you've ever wanted, everything, belongs to me now."

It happened too fast after that. Always too fast. How did the time slip by so fast?

Dean's time was up.

The Dean with demon eyes had hold of Sasha and he was tearing the incubus off of the bed and dragging him away into the darkness. Dean tried to reach out and pull him back, but suddenly Sam was there in Sasha's place, holding Dean down the whole length of their bodies. It made Dean nauseous and he tried to forget that he was naked.

"Too late, Dean," Sam said, yellow eyes glittering and large body heavy on top of him, "Time to join the ranks. Won't Dad be so proud?" Again, Sam laughed, so unlike him, so offhandedly cruel. "That's what happens, you know?" Sam said, "When you die and go to Hell. That's where all those demons come from. Just pitiful souls like you. Well," Sam grinned toothily, "Not all of them. Old yellow eyes and me, we're special. You could be special too."

Shut up, Dean thought, just shut up. "You're not Sammy," he snarled, hating those mottled eyes as much as he did when the demon that killed their mother and took their father away wore them, "You're not even real. It's just a dream. I know it's a dream."

Sam's mouth twisted even further into a half-mad grin. "No, Dean. This isn't a dream. Deep down I think you know that. You know…that this is the reality that waits for you. And you…" Sam's body seemed to press into Dean even more, forcing the air out of his lungs and making his skin itchy and hot, "…you're going to lose everything."

There was so much weight to those words that Dean felt crushed. There was a time after making the deal when he thought he had nothing to lose, not because he took Sam for granted—you can't take for granted something you've tasted the loss of—but because Dean had given everything of himself for Sam's sake and could accept that loss if it protected Sam. But it wasn't just Sam anymore. Now, Dean had more to lose than he bargained for. He had everything to lose, just as these phantom demons were saying, things that only made sense if it was him and Sam and Sasha. All of them together.

And Dean would not give that up.

Roaring into his attacker's face, Dean pushed up with every ounce of strength in him, not surprised but determined when he lifted Sam effortlessly and flipped their positions, pinning the larger man back onto the black, formless bed. "You can't have him!" Dean yelled, his fingers digging deep into Sam's shoulders as he thought of Sasha, torn away from him unfairly, "And you can't have Sam! You won't take them like you've taken everything else! Not them! And you're sure as Hell not getting me!" Dean pulled his fist back, ready to fight until his last breath if he had to.

"Dean!" Sam called up at him, his eyes wide but wonderfully hazel-colored, "It's me!"

Dean's fist stopped inches from meeting its mark and realization tumbled around him like cold water. Sam. It was Sammy, real and human and entirely his brother. And he was lying back on a bed that did exist with walls around them that existed too. The black had vanished, that awful emptiness gone.

Dean was awake.

The first thought that crossed Dean's mind as he sat back and allowed Sam to get up was how happy he was he wasn't naked. This was awkward enough.

"Oh," Dean said weakly, his hand shaking as he brought it up to run through his short hair, "Sorry, I…I guess I was still sleeping."

That was pretty feeble for an explanation, Dean knew that, but he couldn't think to say anything else. Had Sam heard him dreaming and come in to check on him? Had Dean called out in his sleep? He was fairly certain he had yelled for real all that last part, and it made him choke on anything else he might have said. Sam wasn't supposed to know about his dreams.

Dean wanted to curse Manfred's guest room but also himself for choosing to sleep in the same place as where his first nightmare of yellow-eyed Sam had haunted him. He should have thought of that. He really should have. Maybe the room had some strange residual supernatural effects or something from Manfred's old ghost. Whatever the case, Dean knew he wouldn't be going back to sleep any time soon.

"I was just…coming to tell you," Sam started, sitting on the bed beside Dean now, his voice quiet and shaky, "The coffee's getting cold and it's…getting kind of late if you want breakfast."

Breakfast. Hadn't Dean just fallen asleep? He glanced to the window and saw the bright streaks of sunlight peeking through the cracks in the curtains. Damn it. Dean hated when that happened. "Right," Dean said, trying to find something to look at that wasn't Sam, "Sure."

"Dean," Sam prompted softly, "Are you—"

"I'm fine," Dean broke in, sharper than he meant to. Not now. Not today. Not after that. "Can't you two leave me alone for once? Between you and Sasha if it's not one of you it's the other or both, always trying to get into my hand. I'm not fragile, Sam," Dean said with conviction, finally glancing up to meet those pained hazel eyes, "I'm not going to break just because I have a nightmare." There, he'd said it. A nightmare. Now Sam didn't have to pry. Only, Dean knew he would anyway.

"Okay, Dean. You're right. I'm sorry."

Huh? "I'm right?" Dean asked. He wasn't sure if he had ever heard Sam say those words in relation to him.

"I only hope you're right about all of it," Sam went on, looking over at Dean with more than puppy eyes, more than kicked puppy eyes even, but those old sorrowful ones Sam had when everyone called him Sammy and he was chubby and fourteen and so damn needy, "I don't want them to take you. I don't want them to have claim over any of us. But lately I've been starting to wonder…even with all my power…if I'll be able to save you at all."

Now Dean really wanted coffee. He was too tired, too frazzled for this, and Sam looked far too close to leaning over and wrapping Dean in one of his suffocating bear hugs. Therefore, Dean made the move first and touched a hand to Sam's arm. "You gotta stop thinking like that, Sammy. You got no obligation to save me. I knew what I was getting into when I made that deal. Now…maybe I want out, maybe I'm hoping you can find some way to get me out of it after all, but if the only way ends up being another trade, you better damn well know I'm not going to allow that. I'm just doing my job, looking out for you."

"Yeah," Sam smiled, instead of turning cross or arguing the way he normally would, "Well I'm just doing my job too, Dean, looking out for you. Whether you like it or not."

Stubborn ass, Dean thought, but it made him smile despite himself. How could he ever think of Sam as turning evil on him when his brother looked at him with all the compassion and desperate affection that could possibly exist in shades of brown and green? Sure Sam had freaky powers but so did Sasha, and neither of them were evil no matter what people like Gordon thought.

Slapping his hands against the mattress, Dean pushed himself off the bed and arched his back in a stretch.

"You said something about breakfast, right?" Dean grinned. He wasn't sure if Manfred's kitchen was actually capable of cooking, but his stomach rumbled at the thought of sustenance. Dean could not start the day without something in his system, and usually a few cups of coffee too.

Sam got off the bed as well, already dressed for the day, Dean realized, though his hair was a bit of mess now after Dean's dream attack. "Manfred went out and got donuts. To thank us for stopping by for the week and letting him know about Ash. I saved you an apple fritter."

Dean grinned. "That's why I love you, Sammy," he said, knowing how difficult it was for Sam to stop himself whenever there was sugar in the equation, "Let's get this day started."

Five minutes later Dean had a fresh cup of Manfred's coffee and was already halfway through his fritter. Manfred was up preparing another pot since they went through the stuff so quickly, while Sam and Dean elbowed each other in their too close positions up at the kitchen counter. They knew they could scoot their stools further away from each other, but that would defeat the purpose of their brotherly immaturity.

Manfred was rattling on about his band and how he wished Dean and Sam would reconsider their plans with "That friend of yours" and come out to the Park in Rear again. Hospitality be damned, there was no way Dean was getting himself suckered into hearing poorly executed metal covers.

Dean also thought briefly of the bartender at that place, jeans hugging her hips just right and how they had flirted back and forth for several days when Sam and Dean were working on Manfred's ghost problem. Nothing ever came of it since the woman thought Dean was sweet and sexy as anything but too young for her. Besides, Dean had an arrangement now.

An arrangement. Dean didn't know what else to call it, but he was pretty sure he'd be running for the hills if he or Sasha ever used the word boyfriend.

"Shut the door tight behind ya when you leave later. Should be locked good enough," Manfred was saying, taking a cup from the freshly brewed pot for himself and looking as if he meant to leave, "Things haven't been quite the same what with Eddie gone and all that. He got off pretty well, ya know, it being an accident and all, even if his screw up got that poor thing all dead and haunting my house. He took off after it blew over. Training in this new guy for the band just isn't working like we thought, even all this time later. Audition today to see about finding someone knew, so I'll be heading out now. You boys gonna be okay here?"

"Sure, Manfred. And thanks again for this week. We really appreciate it," Sam said, rising from his stool to shake Manfred's hand.

Manfred was all smiles, grateful for the company, Dean supposed, and he shook Dean's hand good and hard when he turned to him. "See you boys around then. Don't hesitate to visit a little sooner next time."

They said their goodbyes and Manfred left them to the house until they were ready to take off.

Dean was already settled back on his stool and biting into his fritter again when Sam gave a good stretch of his arms above his head and sat back down beside him.

"So I'm thinking I deserve some kind of brotherly sainthood for this week," Sam said, a strange little smile on his lips that Dean wasn't usually used to. It was more like the smile Sam used when they were into one of their prank modes and Sam had just got one up on Dean.

Dean stared at his fritter as if the thing had somehow been poisoned. "What the hell for?' he said, rightfully wary.

"You know," Sam said, grinning, "Seeing as how I haven't brought it up yet."

Oh fuck. It. Dean was pretty sure he knew what 'it' referred to and he was not looking forward to this conversation, especially since he had thought he had avoided it for at least a while longer. Dean felt a chill climb down his spine when he glanced over at his brother and saw that expectant look. He set his fritter on the counter and took a long gulp of hot coffee.

"Of course I was hoping maybe you'd take the hint and talk to me yourself," Sam went on, all casual, sitting too close still beside Dean so that their arms hit whenever Dean squirmed, which was pretty much constant now, "Guess I should have known better, huh?"

"Sam…"

"You didn't really think I hadn't noticed, did you?"

Dean's right hand clenched tight around Manfred's novelty mug, one Dean had chosen for the prominent 'Fuck Communism' scrawled across the side. "Notice…what?" Dean said lamely.

Although Dean stared down at his coffee instead of looking over at Sam, he knew what expression his brother was wearing, that 'really, Dean?' look like Dean must be totally insane for trying to swindle Sam any further when the gig was pretty much up. "Dean, if you being awkward as anything, and twitchy and shy even, after you and Sasha sparred and…made up, I guess. If that wasn't enough," out of the corner of his eye Dean saw Sam shake his head and chuckle shakily, "Believe me that day with the shower thing was."

"What shower thing?" Dean said, looking up at last and truthfully confused this time.

Sam's eyebrows raised and he stared at Dean from beneath his lashes. "Let's think for a minute," Sam said incredulously, "I go down to grab some coffee and donuts from the lobby, Sasha, despite my warnings of your wrath over sharing the bathroom, goes to brush his teeth when you should almost be done showering, and when I get back what, ten minutes later? Sasha is just then coming back out of the bathroom and you suddenly hop back into the shower and turn the taps on, as if I didn't notice they were off when I came in, and douse yourself with cold water. I couldn't help noticing that the cloud of steam that usually follows you out of the bathroom was missing." Sam nudged Dean with his arm. "I mean, come on, Dean. That week before Sasha left, you two weren't exactly covert."

Sure they were, Dean thought, Dean had made certain of it. He thought he had. Of course Sasha kept him so damn distracted…

Dean's body seized up suddenly as it hit him that Sam had basically just admitted he knew Dean and their incubus friend were making out behind his back. Dean felt like maybe he needed to throw up.

"Breathe, Dean," came Sam's voice beside him, a large hand running up and down Dean's bare back. There was the sound of a smile in every word Sam spoke though, which Dean didn't really understand. "I'm only grossed out on principle, because you're my brother and he's our friend. As long as this isn't, you know, you sewing some really strange wild oats before you die or something…"

"Hey!" Dean instinctually pushed Sam away from him.

Sam raised his hands in defense but he was smiling, easy, like he was halfway to laughing. "I know that's not it, I'm just saying. I thought I was going crazy back in Danville when I came in and you guys were on Sasha's bed. You can only tell yourself 'I'm probably imagining it' for so long though."

This was too much. The last thing Dean wanted right now was for his brother to give his blessing or whatever for Dean to fool around with their male incubus friend. "Shut up," Dean said miserably, hiding his face in his hands, "Please just shut up."

Sam laughed. It wasn't cruel and haunting like it had been in Dean's dream, but it was still unsettling. "Okay, I'm sorry," Sam said, "I know nothing. Just an oblivious bystander until you're ready to look me in the eyes again. I don't…I don't really know what I think. How I feel about it. I just know it doesn't…bother me. That's saying something, isn't it?" Sam's voice was suddenly tender and Dean didn't feel quite like running for the bathroom anymore.

Dean peeked out of his hands and saw how benign Sam's expression was, just there, present and there for him without any of those overpowering emotions making it hard for Dean to meet his brother's gaze. "Yeah," Dean said, "But can you maybe—"

"Never bring it up again?"

"Please."

"Coz you're freaking out and probably have been freaking out since whatever'snot happening started."

Dean swallowed. Hell yeah he was freaking out.

"Well," Sam said, smacking Dean maybe a little too hard on the back as he rose from his stool, "Time to go pick up Sasha."

Okay, that was low. Dean turned to glare at his brother, his coffee and fritter forgotten now as a pool of heat and anxiety started to form in his gut. There was also a little anger thrown in since he was currently contemplating all of the ways he could make his brother pay for this.

Dean got off his stool—he really needed a shower—and tried to bypass Sam so he wouldn't suddenly punch the guy out of principle.

"Dean?"

Dean was halfway out of the kitchen when Sam's mournful plea hit him. Was his brother bipolar with all those freaky powers, or what? Now Sam sounded heartbroken and worried again, and it made Dean turn around so fast he almost thought he was going to find his brother bleeding or crying.

"You know…it's going to be that much worse now when you finally tell Sasha about the deal. You can't keep it from him anymore. He's in this with us too, you know? You have to tell him."

The deal. The damn fucking deal. Dean sighed. He had been expecting that, whether Sam was okay with the whole mess or not. "I know," Dean admitted, unable to deny that truth any longer. He forced a smile. "But it's his birthday today, Sammy. I don't want to wreck that over my problems. Soon, okay?" Dean added when Sam's eyes narrowed and his mouth started quivering with dissention, "I'll tell him soon."

For all his teasing and brotherly annoyances, Sam was a really wonderful guy at the core. Dean would almost admit that aloud. Because Sam just nodded and said, "Okay, Dean."

Despite the butterflies forming in Dean's stomach and how his throat tightened, Dean knew he couldn't ask for much more right now. Like he used to when fear still ruled his feelings for Sasha, Dean tried to tell himself not to think. Don't think, Dean. Don't think about how much this hurts. Today isn't your day.

Today belongs to Sasha.

Port Authority was packed. Dean supposed it always was, this being New York and all. He glanced around at the sea of people, Sam close beside him since they were afraid losing sight of each other might mean never finding each other again. How were they supposed to find Sasha in this mess? They were a little late, or, rather Sasha's bus had arrived a little early. The incubus had to be around the place somewhere though. They hadn't heard from him since he called to tell them his bus would be in sooner than expected.

Dean whipped out his cell phone. "I'm gonna call him. This'll take forever." Dean was looking away from Sam, but he quickly turned back to his brother at the sound of sudden struggling and a great 'oomph'.

Then all Dean could do was grin. He put his cell phone back in his pocket and raised an eyebrow at the sight of a grown man—well, incubus—folded around the back of his very large 6'4" baby brother as if Sasha had just suddenly pounced on Sam like a cat.

Sam was laughing once he realized he had been attacked by a friend, and Sasha was still holding on tight, hugging Sam and crushing him at the same time with a wide smile.

"So I'm guessing all those nifty powers don't include a Spider Sense," Sasha teased, "Miss me?" he said close beside Sam's ear. Then he looked up to meet eyes with Dean, his smile growing as he winked none too subtly.

Sam groaned at the crushing hold Sasha had him in and said, "I think I miss breathing just a bit more."

Point taken. Sasha released Sam but only to be clobbered into a proper Winchester hug the next second, pulling them close together.

"Happy Birthday," Sam smiled, "I forget how annoying Dean is until it's just the two of us again."

"You're hilarious," Dean droned, moving around the pair to pick up Sasha's duffle and toss it over his own shoulder, "You girls ready or what? I'm getting people-claustrophobic in this place. Good to have you back, man," he added towards Sasha.

Sam and Sasha broke from their hug and turned towards Dean at the same time, each with equally memorable expressions. Sam seemed to be trying to say something silently that Dean took to mean 'remember I know what's going on between you two so you don't have to hide it'. But then Sasha's look was so eager, so pleased and hungry for Dean that Dean kind of preferred not letting things spill all out into the open just yet. There was something strangely enticing about the way Sasha managed to steal kisses. Just because Sam knew now didn't mean Dean wanted to give that up. Besides, he wasn't about to launch himself at Sasha and kiss him in public. That would never happen. PDAs just weren't Dean's thing even if he had been fully comfortable with this arrangement of theirs.

"Let's go," Dean said, turning on his heels to head back to the car. He grinned to himself as he went, loving the chance to mess with the angst twins' heads a bit. After a few moments he heard them shuffle after him, Sam bounding ahead and looking back briefly with a slight scowl, and Sasha falling into step beside Dean as they made their way through Port Authority.

"You did miss me, right?" Sasha whispered, leaning in close to Dean when he saw how far ahead of them Sam was walking.

Dean fought to keep his grin down and shrugged. "I guess the backseat was a little quieter."

Sasha laughed, seeing right through Dean just as Dean knew he would. "Jerk," Sasha said.

"Bitch," Dean responded on reflex. He almost tripped over his feet when he realized what he had done, and he was glad Sam wasn't close enough to hear their hushed words or he would be in for a world of extra teasing. "Sorry," Dean said to Sasha, scowling to himself even if Sasha looked all adorably amused about the whole thing, "You know how Sam usually…yeah…and I didn't…damn it." Dean pushed on ahead of Sasha, feeling ridiculous. Sasha really had managed to fit himself so seamlessly into their lives. Sometimes it shook Dean up, like it was all too perfect. And perfect crumbled so easily.

"Dean," Sasha said, so close beside Dean again that Dean knew Sasha had easily caught up with him, "I missed you too," he said then, and before Dean could yell something like 'there's people everywhere, you idiot!' Sasha was pressing a kiss into his neck.

Dean blinked and Sasha was suddenly up by Sam, the two of them chatting away with Dean taking up the rear. Dean's face felt so flush, he knew it had to be some shade of red close to Sasha's hair. Glancing around quick, Dean checked to see if anyone was staring at them but it didn't seem like anyone had noticed.

Yep, Dean thought as he followed behind the others, he was officially and irreconcilably screwed. And since there was nothing he could do about it he figured he might as well enjoy every moment he could.

Dean had cased the place in Brooklyn at the beginning of the week. He threw out the idea of hitting a place in downtown New York right away. Too many people. But he kept his initial idea in tact, finding a good Irish pub that occasionally had live music and even had an outdoor area on the roof with nice views of the city.

"With a name like Kelly you have to spend your birthday in an Irish pub. Gotta be a rule or something," Dean had said when they arrived, pushing past the rush of people that had already started pouring in.

They had already had dinner at a rib place, corn bread and all, and Dean had joked about how Sam wanted to bake a cake but Dean felt his brother's manhood was in question too often for that to be a good idea. His arm still hurt from when Sam playfully smacked him and Dean had to wonder if Sam used any of that super strength in the blow.

The guitar remained in the safety of the Impala's trunk for now. Sam gave Dean a hinting look when they first parked, but Dean shook head. Not yet. He wanted to let them get through a few rounds first so Sasha would be more complacent, not that Dean thought there was any way he wouldn't be getting what he wanted tonight. That just wasn't going to happen.

Sasha was positively beaming when they grabbed a table, so Dean knew he had done well. "I guess this means we have to order a pint of Guinness, huh?"

"Each," Dean nodded.

Sam already looked wary. "We drove here remember. Someone has to stay sober."

"That's what the subway's for," Dean shrugged. Not that he wanted to leave his baby parked out in some strange place in Brooklyn for the night, but still. It was a celebration. Nothing could bring Dean's mood down tonight, and nothing would bring down Sasha's either if Dean could help it.

"Are we allowed to ask for Irish Car Bombs in an Irish pup?" Sasha asked with a sideways smirk.

"I think they're called Depth Charges in Ireland," Sam offered.

"What's in it?" Dean asked. He usually stuck to beer and straight shots.

"They put half Irish whiskey half Baileys into a shot glass and then drop the shot into a three fourths full pint of Guinness," Sasha explained, looking fairly excited for that to be their first drink of the night, "But you have to pound it right away or the Baileys will curdle."

Yeah, Sam was looking pretty nervous by now. Dean had to grin. He had Sasha on one side of him and Sam on the other, so it was easy to give them each a simultaneous smack on the back. "Bottoms up, boys," he said, and then caught sight of one of the waitresses flitting past them, "Miss?" he smirked.

An hour later Sasha was explaining another of his favorite drinks with three double shots set out in front of them along with lemons and packs of sugar. "It's called Chocolate Cake," Sasha said. They were all buzzed by now but still mostly in their right minds. Dean didn't want Sasha wasted when he gave him the guitar. "You take it kind of like a Tequila shot, only with sugar instead of salt."

Sam blinked slowly at the shot glass in front of him. Liquor always ran through his system a little faster than you'd think considering his size. "This isn't a shot. It's huge."

"Double shot," Dean said, "Not man enough for that? Though I guess it is called Chocolate Cake."

"But it's clear," Sam said, picking the shot up and studying it.

"Trust me," Sasha said, hoisting up his glass as well. They had already poured sugar onto their lemons, easier than trying to lick your arm, Sasha had said, and more common with this particular drink.

Dean was willing. He raised his shot too. "Lemon or shot first?"

"Doesn't really matter. I usually go for the lemon."

"So you do this often?" Sam said, eyeing Sasha over the table.

Sasha tried to shrug the comment off but nonchalance wasn't one of his stronger personality traits. "Women happen to like this shot, I won't lie. And I…may have bought a round for a bachelorette party or…three."

Dean snorted. "Ready?" Even Sam raised his glass. "Go." Dean sucked the sugar and lemon juice down and then poured the whole double shot of clear liquid down his throat. It burned warmly the way alcohol was supposed to, but not so strong that you wanted something to wash it down with. The amazing thing was, clear or not, it actually did taste like chocolate cake. "Nice," Dean said, licking his lips of the remaining sugar.

"Thought you'd like it. You too, sweet tooth," Sasha said to Sam.

Sam hadn't managed to take the whole shot, but was happily downing the rest with a satisfied hum. "I deny nothing," he said coolly. The kid was practically being coy and Dean couldn't have been happier to get a few drinks in Sam to see him loosen up.

Maybe if things played out right, they could find someone for Sam to hook up with. Lord knows the guy needed it.

"I'm gonna hit the bathroom quick," Dean said, sliding out of his chair and giving Sam a long stare. Sam's eyed widened in recognition immediately.

"Sasha," Sam said, grabbing Sasha's arm across the table in case the incubus tried to go with Dean, "Let me buy you a drink without Dean, huh? He keeps trying to steal all the credit for our night out."

Oh very nice, Dean said with his eyes, scowling as he slipped away from the table, though he had to admit that it was pretty quick of Sam, and Sasha had been successfully distracted since he laughed good and hard and said, "Only if you promise you'll have whatever I have."

That ought to be good.

Dean made quick work getting out to the car and removing the guitar case from the trunk. He smiled to himself, feeling pretty good with over an hour's worth of alcohol in his belly and the company of his two best friends. Not that he would ever admit to Sam that he thought of him that way or there'd be no end to the sentimental crap. Besides, Dean couldn't help but grow excited as he walked back into the bar and headed for their table. Sam could tease about Dean taking all the credit all he wanted, but Dean was the one who thought of the guitar and who worked out the little extra that went with it.

They had positioned themselves so that Sasha's back was to the door just for this moment. Dean could see new glasses in front of them both as he drew closer and the satisfied grimace Sam made as he took a sip from his. If Dean had to guess he would say they had Long Islands. He knew for a fact that Long Islands were one of Sam's weaknesses and usually knocked him on his ass if he had even the smallest bit else to drink. Oh the reasons Dean discovered everyday to be glad he knew Sasha.

"Happy birthday, man," Dean said as he reached them and slid into his seat. He propped the guitar case against the table between him and Sasha and waited for realization to hit.

Sasha looked absolutely floored. He gaped for a solid minute before he looked up and caught Dean and Sam's eyes in turn. "You bought me a guitar?" he said, amazed.

"Hell no," Dean laughed, "I'm not spending that kind of money on you."

Then Sam, all smiles of course, spoke up to explain. "It's our dad's. We want you to have it."

"Figured you must be missing the chance to play," Dean added.

If possible, Sasha's eyes grew wider and he reached out gingerly to touch the case. "I…I couldn't accept something like that."

"Sure you could," Dean said, grabbing the guitar and pushing it onto Sasha's lap. He opened it up then, right in front of Sasha's eyes to show him the newly cleaned, tuned, and downright beautiful piece of aged acoustic. "We don't play, idiot. You do."

"It would just be sitting in our dad's storage place otherwise, collecting dust," Sam said, "We'd much rather see it put to use."

Sasha's eyes spoke of further dissenting, but something about what Sam and Dean had said, or maybe just the fact that they were so whole heartedly offering the guitar to him made him change his mind. He reached in and pulled the guitar out and Dean moved the case away and set it under their table.

The bar was buzzing so much around them, they usually had to almost yell to hear each other, so as Sasha held the guitar, grinning madly but not yet giving the strings an experimental pluck, Dean leaned over to whisper in Sasha's ear. He watched Sam as he spoke, knowing that Sam knew what he was saying even if Sam couldn't hear him.

"This place doesn't usually have live music tonight, but the owner said he'd be thrilled if someone wanted to play a few songs for fun. See over there," Dean said, pointing across the bar to a balding man counting cash in one of the registers, "Just go up to him and say who you are and he'll get you set up on the stage." Dean pointed then to the little cleared away area covered in other instruments. It wasn't a real stage, not elevated, but it worked well enough as one.

Sasha pulled back from Dean, his mouth completely slack. He glanced nervously over at Sam then who was beaming into his Long Island. "You want me to…play? Here? Tonight?"

"That was the plan."

"But Dean…Sam…I can't…I mean I'm out of practice and—"

"You'll be fine," Dean promised. He didn't buy for a second that Sasha wasn't the kind of guy who could just pick up a guitar and play again. Not with the way he loved music and sang so well. "You owe me, remember?" Dean said, grinning wide. He had been planning this for months as his payback for Slither. Sometimes waiting was so much more satisfying than immediate gratification.

Realization dawned on Sasha, that was certain by the change in his expression and the slight glitter to his eyes. He smiled across the table at Sam and then turned back to Dean. "You had this planned all along. You want me to go up there and sing and play for the first time in months on my own birthday."

"Yep."

"You're an asshole."

"Eh, it's why you love me." Dean caught himself just as he said that, not meaning for it to tumble out, coz he didn't mean it like…that. "I…I mean…"

"Okay," Sasha said, saving Dean from his tied tongue, "But don't think I won't be getting both of you back for this later."

Sam was chuckling happily and since that minor slip had been passed over, Dean fell right back into feeling pretty good about things. Sasha flashed Sam his smile again and gave Dean a wink.

"I think there's one song I might be able to manage."

After Sasha had gone to talk to the manager, Dean reached over and pulled Sam's glass right out of his hands, taking a long drink from it before passing it back. "Good Long Islands here."

"Get your own," Sam mockingly pouted, clutching the glass close once it was back in his grasp.

"I need a new drink," Dean said, feeling his buzz start to fade despite the heat of the Chocolate Cake still swirling inside of him, "What should I buy Sasha next?"

"Trying to get him drunk?" Sam snarked.

Dean raised an eyebrow. Sam's eyes already looked glassy and the way he was grinning made Dean suddenly feel a rise of panic. They hadn't actually discussed the whole Sam knows now thing, but if Dean knew this particular look of Sam's then it was a pretty good bet that Sam would be giving himself away more and more as the night went on.

"You know I've heard of this one drink…" Sam started with a grin.

"If you say Sex on the Beach to me, Sammy, I am putting you down."

Sam almost choked on his next swallow. "I'm serious," he said, "S'got Sloe Gin, Southern Comfort, Vodka, Orange Juice, and…something else I think."

Oh. Maybe Sam wasn't trying to be a smartass. "Sounds pretty good. What's it called?"

"A Sloe Comfortable Screw Up Against the Wall."

"I fucking hate you."

Sam seemed to be enjoying himself way too much as a laugh burst out of him, even though Dean knew that if Sam was sober he would be making himself blush with these kind of comments. "Don't make me order one from the waitress for the both of you," Sam added teasingly.

Really, Sam was trying to kill him. "Shut up, Sammy." Dean could just imagine it, his inebriated brother waiting until Sasha came back to the table and then asking the waitress, "Can I get a A Sloe Comfortable Screw Up Against the Wall for these two?" Fratricide would no long be a passing fantasy if that were to happen.

Thankfully, the screech of a microphone saved Dean from any more of Sam's comments and they both turned towards the mock stage. They had positioned themselves close but not so close that Sasha would have caught wise before now.

The bar was fairly packed still and even though all eyes turned to Sasha and his guitar, the incubus didn't look uncomfortable in the spot light at all. Dean knew most of his squirming over playing tonight was just show.

"Now I know most of you regulars here aren't used to live entertainment this night of the week," Sasha said into the microphone, his voice loud and clear inside the crowded bar, "But I'm not getting paid so they've made an exception. See, it's my birthday today." There was a chorus of loud applause of course, to which Dean and Sam chimed in readily. "Yes," Sasha smiled, "But instead of just buying me a few pints and calling it good, my good friends decided to force me up on stage to play for you tonight." Another chorus of cheers. "I apologize in advance. Normally I don't go for music you might find in the top 40, but this one…well…let's just say this one managed to catch my attention."

The first strum on the guitar was experimental, Sasha remembering the feel of his fingers on the strings, and then a gentle riff began and Sasha moved on into the opening of a song. When Sasha's vocals poured out, the smile clear in his voice even as he sang, Dean knew he had chosen the perfect present.

'You're a falling star, You're the get away car.
You're the line in the sand when I go too far.
You're the swimming pool, on an August day.
And you're the perfect thing to say.'

Dean didn't know the song, but then he never listened to normal radio, certainly not anything that would be playing stuff that might fit into the top 40. It had a sort of lounge quality that suited Sasha's smooth voice, and it went well with the simple strums of the guitar. Dean wasn't oblivious to the words either, and considering the way Sam nudged him in the shoulder, he was pretty sure Sam had gotten the message too.

'And you play it coy, but it's kinda cute.
Ah, When you smile at me you know exactly what you do.
Baby don't pretend, that you don't know it's true.
Cause you can see it when I look at you.'

Even the smallest glance around the bar proved that at least a good population of the women had already fallen in love with the impromptu singer, and maybe even that one guy sitting in the corner with a stout and somber eyes.

'And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times
It's you, it's you, You make me sing.
You're every line, you're every word…

Sasha didn't try to hide how his gaze lingered in one place, soft and adoring towards their table and right at Dean.

'…You're everything.'

"I think he likes you," Sam said in a mock conspiratorial whisper. He had clearly drunk his Long Island way too fast. "It's so weird. I think you're blushing even." Sam reached over and poked Dean's cheek. "You like him too. And you weren't even going to tell me."

Dean tried to tune Sam out, but it was too late. He was thinking hard about everything suddenly, about how Sam knew, about how real it was now instead of just this crazy thing that was happening, and about how Sasha was still in the dark about one very important, horrible thing. The deal. Sasha's song didn't exactly make Dean feel any lighter about the weight pressing down on him either.

'And I can't believe, uh that I'm your man,
And I get to kiss you baby just because I can.
Whatever comes our way, ah we'll see it through,
And you know that's what our love can do.'

Dean was playing a dangerous game. Sam seemed okay with it, drunk Sam seemed to cheer it on, and well, Dean had thought he had come to terms with it when he finally kissed Sasha of his own accord in that workout room. He needed slow, but Sasha gave him that, stealing kisses Dean craved more and more with every one. And that was the problem. Dean was falling into the comfort of it, into easy, into blissful, and the further he fell the more it would hurt when there was no place for him to land other than the bone and flesh and blood covered landscape of Hell.

'And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times
It's you, it's you, You make me sing
You're every line, you're every word, you're everything.'

Dean was stone sober when Sasha finished singing, having played through another couple of songs to the crowd's delight. Sasha looked fairly sober when he returned too, his own Long Island having grown warm, untouched.

"I gotta go the bathroom," Sam mumbled, pushing up from the table. He was pretty drunk, maybe more so than usual because of his state of mind, so content with a night out that didn't include hunting.

This left Dean and Sasha alone, the guitar safely in its case again. Once Sam was out of sight, Sasha suddenly stood and threw on his coat, reaching for the guitar as well. "Come on," he said to Dean, nodding towards the exit.

Dean was understandably puzzled. "Okay, I know Sam's a little annoying and all when he's drunk, but…"

A chuckle rose in Sasha's throat and he shook his head. "We're not ditching him. The line for the bathroom is crazy. We'll be back before he finds the table empty. Come on. Grab Sam's coat too so no one takes it."

"What are we doing?" Dean said, obliging by putting his coat on and throwing Sam's over his arm to carry.

Sasha just smirked and started leading Dean through the crowd, occasionally having to deal with people telling Sasha how good he had been up on stage, usually women.

When they reached the front door they didn't go through it, but instead started up the stairs. Dean had almost forgotten about the upper level. There were only a few scattered couples on the roof since it was open air and December in New York City. The sky was large and clear above them, the stars sadly dim of course, but still there. Sasha led Dean over to the empty bar—they didn't serve up there in winter—and as soon as he had set the guitar down on the countertop, he plowed Dean back against the wooden wall.

It was shadowy in the dark, but there were still people out there who could potentially see them. "Sasha…" Dean said warningly, but Sasha wasn't listening. He claimed Dean's lips so hungrily, Dean wouldn't have been able to say anything else anyway.

Halfway into the kiss, feeling that deeply probing tongue and Sasha's hands on either side of his face, Dean forgot why he would ever want to tell Sasha to stop. He had missed it so much, the way Sasha needed him and how their bodies fit together with hard muscle and strong holds.

They were no longer going slow. Not with a kiss like this.

"Come to my hotel room," Sasha said breathlessly when he finally pulled away, the hold he had on Dean's face dropping down to Dean's neck and shoulders.

"What?" Dean couldn't think straight. Maybe he hadn't heard right either.

Sasha smiled in the dark, his blue eyes surreal as always, glowing unnaturally. "When we get back to the hotel," Sasha said, whispering still, hot and breathy against Dean's lips since they were so close, "Come to my room."

"Jesus," Dean gasped. It seemed like it had been so long since they last met lips like this, bodies tight and words hushed. It made Dean's mind feel hazier than any alcohol could manage. He tried to grin in response to Sasha's request but he was shivering and there was nothing slow at all in asking such a thing from him. "What," Dean tried, "You think you're getting lucky tonight?"

A flash of white teeth told Dean that Sasha's smile had stretched. "Well it is my birthday," the incubus teased.

Dean swallowed, hard and heavy in his throat.

"Dean," Sasha said, that same smile in his voice as Dean heard when Sasha sang, "I'm not expected anything. Well…maybe a little something. But whatever you want, whatever you're comfortable with, that's fine. Just come. Please," he added, his voice small despite the weight of the request.

It wasn't as if they had to think up an excuse for Sam or anything. But going back to Sasha's room with him would certainly leave nothing to the imagination anymore. Still, Dean couldn't deny how much he wanted to agree, even if the ache in his chest from that dream and his promise to Sam to tell Sasha about the deal felt hotter and heavier than ever.

He wouldn't tell Sasha about the deal tonight. He couldn't. This was Sasha's night and Dean wanted it to be perfect. He wanted it to be perfect for himself to, to forget for a little while that the clock was ticking down.

"I…think maybe I can manage that," he said finally, his hands coming up to grip Sasha's biceps, "Sam's onto us by the way. More than guess work, he…pretty much…knows everything."

"Yeah…" Sasha said slowly, "I…kind of figured that after what he said when you slipped out to grab the guitar."

"Said? What did he say?"

"Umm…it's…not important."

If Dean could see properly in the damn darkness he was fairly certain he would see a blush in Sasha's pale cheeks. "Sasha…" he prompted.

"He just asked how things were going, and when I asked 'what do you mean?' he said…well…how're things working out being in love with my brother."

Dean was going to kill Sam, drunkenness as an excuse or not.

"And I said," Sasha continued, grinning a little in the dark again, "Much better now that he kisses back."

Or maybe Dean would just kill them both. It sure would save him a lot of trouble.

"Does it bother you?" Sasha said, more serious again.

"It doesn't seem to bother him," Dean shrugged, "But if you two start some kind of girl talk thing about this, I will disown you in a heartbeat. Now let's get out of here, huh? Unless you can think of any reason to stick around?"

Sasha pulled in close to Dean again, his arms wrapping around Dean's waist and hugging him while his lips ghosted along Dean's neck. "Everything's been wonderful tonight, Dean. Thank you. Really. No one's ever…cared about this kind of stuff with me before. Still, I'm thinking…" Sasha pulled away, eyes twinkling brilliant blue, "…calling it a night sounds absolutely…perfect."

Finding Sam wasn't difficult. They managed to get back downstairs, just as Sasha predicted, before Sam had even got into the bathroom. They paid their tab and left soon after, Dean tossing the keys to Sasha since he still refused to drive and Sam was in no condition to. Thankfully, Sam started to dose pretty quickly in the backseat. Dean would have shoved his brother right out into the street somewhere if Sam brought up anything embarrassing while they were driving.

It was still pretty early for a night out when they pulled up to the hotel. Dean asked Sasha if he would mind bringing Sam inside for him so he could have a minute to get some air. Sasha eyed him knowingly but obliged, and after a few moments, Sasha and Sam went slumping into the hotel. Dean promised he would meet Sasha in his room in a few minutes. He just needed some time to calm his nerves. No amount of trying not to think would save him this time. There was no way he couldn't think when he was basically about to go to his new make-out buddy's hotel room to fool around, and…maybe…

Dean took a deep breath. He could do this. Sasha had already said there was no obligation, not that Dean ever followed obligations anyway, except for the one about protecting his own. Still, naughtiness was implied and Dean couldn't help feeling nervous. This was new territory. No matter how Dean looked at things, this was new and very scary.

"Talk me down, baby," Dean whispered to his car, holding both hands on the hood as he took slow breaths, "Am I a complete jackass if I go in there and let something happen without…mentioning that little secret of ours."

The Impala didn't respond.

"I'll tell him soon. Real soon. Just…waiting until after we fix the damn thing and don't have to worry about it anymore would be so much better."

Again the Impala remained silent.

"Yeah…that'd be pretty low of me, I know. But just one more night. Tomorrow. I'll tell him tomorrow. Yeah," Dean thought with conviction. He could take Sasha out for coffee in the morning and spill everything. Sasha would have to understand why Dean waited, right? Dean sighed, patted his baby's hood and stood up straight. "Okay. I'm going in." But two steps later Dean stopped in his tracks, and not because of nerves.

"Dean, Dean," came Gordon's irritatingly casual words from somewhere behind Dean's back, "You didn't think you could hide from me forever, did you?"

tbc...

A/N: You didn't think I was giving you sex, did you? ;-) I know I'm evil, but hey, points for the new longest chapter, right? The next chapter is one of my favorites, and yes, I'm pretty sure you'll be crushed. It has been part of the story's plan since Sasha first existed so...be prepared. :-) Review?

Crim