It was a little bar in yet another backwater town. Set on the edge of nothing and with more of the same stretching out beyond it. A seemingly endless sea of same same same. Sam groaned. Dean had the Impala idling, pulled up onto cracked asphalt, against a broken chain link fence, some sort of dilapidated ruin of a house on the other side. A weak yellow light illuminated the early evening.

"C'mon, Dean, do you really need a draft this bad?" Sam was whining.

His voice was scratching on Dean's flesh like ragged fingernails. It was irritating. He killed the engine. "Yeah, Sammy, I do. I need to get the hell outta this car, I need to unwind, I need to watch some skanky bar babes dance to jukebox music. I need to kick your ass at pool." He looked over at his brother. "I just need. Dammit."

Sam nodded and pushed his lanky body up and out of the seat and shut the car door quietly behind him. "Okay." At the very least, they had just finished the job, hadn't rustled up something new, the motel was paid for through the end of the weekend. There was much worse things than indulging Dean's love of the dive. Indulging his need. Sam sucked on his lower lip, Dean needed something and he was bound to deliver. Bound. He followed him into the bar, marveling, as he always did, at the sweet swagger Dean seemed to pull straight up out of the earth beneath his feet and into his bones.

The inside of the bar was everything the outside promised it would be. Blue collar guys playing pool and darts. Couples old enough to know better sliding around on bar stools, flirting drunkenly, and small tables dotted here and there with more of the locals looking to just tie one on. A typical Friday evening in small town America, Sam mused. They ordered beers, deciding against what was on tap, went with bottles, and sat backwards on the bar stools, watching a smallish dance floor in the corner.

Dean nudged him with an elbow, "What did I tell you? Dancing bar babes." And so there was. Dean was as smug as though he'd ordered the blue ribbon special and here it was on a platter. Sam nodded.

A lone female figure moved in perfect distracting time to a classic rock tune queued up on the ancient jukebox. No cds here, this was the real deal with 45's and punch buttons. Sam smiled despite it all. The brothers sipped in unison and began to relax.

They ordered another round and this time Dean added whiskey chasers and Sam kept quiet because he was being entertained hugely by watching the solo dancer, vintage tunes notwithstanding. Low slung jeans, cowboy boots, a teasingly tight tank top. Waist length hair swinging free, tanned arms, long legs. She was very much in her own world, moving with a sinuous grace that spoke to every male part of him, she was animalistic and yet elegant in the way of a ballerina. He didn't think he'd ever seen anything even remotely like her in all the bars he'd ever been in.

He leaned over into Dean's shoulder. "She's amazing, isn't she?" He was surprised to hear that his question sounded as though he needed reassuring.

"Hell yeah she is. If I didn't know better I'd say she was something other than human, but nope, all girl. Good ole' American girl pie."

"Classy," Sam said and sat back and at that moment she looked up and caught his eye.

A quick flash of caution and then confusion followed by distinct interest. He watched her look from him to Dean, then back to him and her beautiful face broke into a smile. She put out her hands and beckoned to them. Both of them.

"This is not normal, Dean," Sam whispered.

"Define normal. I'm dancing." He stood and placed his beer on the bar.

"Really?" Dean never danced, or at least not unless he was supremely well-oiled. Sam tossed what was left of his whiskey back, indicated two more and watched Dean make his way over to the corner dance floor.

The woman stood, hips swaying, holding out her hands and Dean took them in his own and then swung her up against his body, an arm snaking around to place his hand on her lower back, bending her in perfect time. He could dance; Sam knew that, he just didn't dance. Often. And watching him move was almost as much fun as watching the girl had been. Dean possessed perfect rhythm and instinctive reflexes and he was beautiful, Sam could see that without having to be told.

He nursed his whiskey to hide his grin.

After another two dances, Dean wove through the tables and back to the bar. The girl danced on.

"She's the dancing energizer bunny, I'm telling you. Sorry she doesn't seem to have a kid sister, Sammy." He was sweaty and standing very close. He smelled of high octane masculinity and Sam breathed it in deeply and Sam breathed it in deeply, his internal engine turning over. "Let's buy her a drink and sit over there," Dean said, motioning to the bartender and Sam stood, stretching his arms out.

"I'm game."

"I love that about you, dude. You're always game." He grinned widely and Sam felt a deep surge of protective love for his brother.

"To the ends of the earth, Dean," he whispered and followed him back through the tables and into the corner.

They sat down and Dean indicated the long neck to her and she came over and sat backwards on a chair, breathing a bit heavily, and using the cold bottle on the back of her neck between deep pulls.

"Do you dance?" she asked Sam.

"Sure," he said and rose and offered her his hand and didn't turn to see Dean's face but led her out onto the scraped lino and pulled her into his arms. The weight and shape of her femininity up against his chest rocked him, the sway of her hips against the long muscle in his thigh rolled him. He held her tight and she let him for the entire song, then she pulled away and went back to her solitary moves. Sam mirrored her and was surprised when Dean joined them, the three moving in a tight circle of gyrations and raised arms and swinging hips. The song ended and Dean moved to the juke and fed a handful of quarters into it before turning back to them. Groucho Marx eyebrows. Sam laughed.

A toe-tapping pop number form the 60's, a hard rock 70's shaker, and then a slow ballad. She moved up into Dean's space and twirled her arms around his neck, Sam sat and watched as Dean moved her in time, both hands firm on her hips, and kissed her thoroughly. Another slow dance record dropped onto the spindle and she unwrapped herself from Dean and pulled Sam back onto the floor. He was surprised but found himself hungry for her mouth when she lifted her face to his and kissed him. He was so much taller than she was and with both hands on her back he pulled her up and against him.

Then they sat back down at the table, where Dean had ordered another round of beers and whiskeys and unbelievably, the two of them were soon tangled in chairs and legs and the table, taking turns nipping at her lips and earlobes and collarbones, hands sliding on the soft skin of her, up under the tank top, against the hard muscles of her abdomen, down the flexing muscles in her thighs. It was seriously freaky, but Sam decided there was much more freaky things in the world than he and Dean both necking with the same girl at the same time and when he brought his fingers up to the edges of her jaw, where Dean's own fingers were, he felt a jolt of human lightning move through him until Dean moved his hand.

"And another round down. Sammy, your turn?" Dean said, his voice husky and Sam nodded and took the empties up to the bar.

The bartender was leaning against the sink, washing out glasses. He looked up slowly at Sam. "You two boys have to take that out of my bar." He held up a hand. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy as hell for both of you, but you know the saying 'get a room'? Well, get one."

Sam nodded. "Sorry. I hear you. Can we get another round before we, uh, get that room?"

The older man weighed this and finally nodded. "And then you're outta here. It's closing time, anyway." He called out Last Call before taking Sam's money.

-----------------------

In the car, Dean drummed impatiently on his thigh, on the steering wheel, on the seat between them, on the dashboard. "Dude, you are so cock-blocking me. You're supposed to be acting my wingman."

"Your wingman? What about you acting my wingman?"

"She wants me, Sammy."

"And that means she doesn't want me?"

"Right. She wants both of us." He waved a dismissive hand.

Sam shrugged, non-committal. "Why not? We're hot. Besides, she's sure acting like she wants both of us."

"Yeah, but that's just....ew, no. Isn't this backwards? Aren't two chicks supposed to pick up one guy? You are seriously cramping my style. I'm going to drop you back at the hotel, not sure why I didn't think of that earlier."

"Too late, bro. We're here."

They had followed her out of the parking lot and out onto the country highway, until she turned down a street lined with sagging bungalows and old farmhouses. She parked and Dean, out of instinct, backed in the Impala. "Damn," he whispered. "Fine."

They got out of the car and she was seated on the hood. "This is sweet," she said, patting the hot steel. "And it feels, oooh, nice."

Dean laughed and looked across at Sam who just raised both eyebrows.

"That right?"

"Mmmmm....C'mere, both of you," she purred and Dean moved in between her legs and Sam hoisted himself up beside her, his arm around her shoulders tangling with Dean's arms.

"Now, before we go inside and you both get your minds blown," she laughed wickedly and Sam got hard instantly, "I need to know that we're going to play this my way."

"I'll play anyway you deal the cards, baby," Dean said and kissed her deeply. Sam leaned over and buried his face in the bend of her neck, his ear pressed against Dean's forearm.

She pulled back and looked at Dean through her eyelashes. She reached out and grasped Sam's chin in her hand, her thumb rubbing hot circles at the corner of his mouth. "Okay, then. Kiss this guy."

Sam almost laughed out loud at the look on Dean's face.

"Sweetheart, that guy is my brother," Dean said.

She shrugged and pulled Sam down to her and kissed him. "And?"

Dean stepped back, away from her, away from the situation. "And? And? And that is twisted and we are not playing. Sam, get in the car. No tail is worth this."

-----------------------

Silence in the car as they pulled away, the girl standing, mind-blown, in her driveway and Dean punched it through the gravel and back out onto the pavement. He rolled down the window and leaned his head out. After they passed the bar and were heading into town, Sam began to laugh.

"You got a sick sense of humor."

"It's funny, that's all."

"Yeah, it's a laugh riot."

"You don't see something funny in how fearless you are in every other thing we could ever come up against, but the idea of kissing a guy..."

He held up a finger. "'Brother'."

"...scares you like a little girl with a bogeyman in the closet."

"Yeah, speaking of closets, got something you want to tell me, Sam?"

"I'm not gay, Dean."

"But you're totally willing to mack on a dude."

He shrugged. "Not just any dude, dude."

"I am so not going there. Let's just shut the fuck up until tomorrow, okay?"

After another silence. "Bit of blue balls, huh?" Sam snickered.

"Thanks to you."

"Hey, point that finger right back at yourself, Dean. I was willing."

"Yeah, about that. When did you get all down with the group sex? Tell me you were not flying your freak flag at Stanford, tell me that, please."

"My freak flag. Who exactly here did twins?"

"Totally different thing, Sammy. Girls? See the difference? So?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't kiss and tell. And I'm not saying I have or I haven't, but I'm not scared of it either. Big bad demon slayer and you're scared of a kiss."

Dean looked flabbergasted. He took both hands off the wheel to gesture impatience. "Again. Brothers? You're seriously scaring me here, Sam."

"You're scared of something, that much is true." He turned away from Dean, watching the sleepy town pass by outside the window, wondering why he was pushing him so hard, wondering about horizons and vistas, paths taken and paths not, wondering why no one had ever said just no, as though it were so obviously no, no the moon isn't made of cheese, no the sun doesn't rise and set, no ice doesn't really get so cold it feels hot, no no no, and in addition to all that, no, you don't consider your brother. All the unsaid things. He sighed and rubbed a weary hand across his face.

-----------------------

Dean actually took a shower and Sam undressed, crawling into bed, comfortably altered, letting his big body relax into the sheets, the cheap mattress holding him in its broken coiled clasp. He laced his fingers behind his head and lay on his back, listening to his brother in the shower, playing the evening over in his mind. Coming up against a door that he had never, until tonight, considered opening. Opening even a crack.

Dean came out of the bathroom and headed straight for bed. Drunk and horny, Sam smiled to himself. He snapped the light off and they lay in the dark listening to one another breathe. Finally. "I am scared, Sam."

Sam held his breath.

"Scared if I," he paused, "that if we," another pause, "that I won't be able to stop."

Sam nodded to himself in the dark and lay awake for hours before tumbling into a dreamscape where he stood on the edge of a wild, storm-tossed seashore waiting for the ocean to rise up and embrace him.