The Truth In The Lie: Day Three

Title: The Truth In The Lie: Day Three
Rating: PG this chapter, NC-17 overall.
Word count: 4,923/63,000 (this chapter/total)
A/N: Main header and notes: here.

Prologue, Day One, Day Two, Day Three, Day Four, Day Five, Day Six, Day Seven, Day Eight, Day Nine, Day Ten, Day Eleven (Part One, Part Two), Epilogue.

****

Sam woke up first again the next morning to find that not only had Dean crept close in the night, but he was resting his hand casually on Sam's leg. Sam carefully slid away and out of bed, wondering why he was the one that got accused of being a girl when his brother was clearly a closet cuddler.

"What's the plan for today?" asked Dean, still sounding sleepy, as Sam left the bathroom five minutes later.

"We're going to Halifax, via some cove," said Sam.

"Right," said Dean, sitting up, "and hunting-wise?"

Sam shrugged. "Ask more questions, keep our eyes open and hope like hell someone casually mentions eating human hearts."

"Great," said Dean, sarcastically, "That's really foolproof."

"Got any better ideas?" snapped Sam. "That don't involve getting arrested for assault?"

Dean gritted his teeth. "Anything's got to be better than just hanging around, hoping to catch a break."

"We're not going to start attacking people for no reason, Dean!" exclaimed Sam. "I'm going to breakfast." He left the room, slamming the door behind him.

****

The previous evening, Dean had been fine. They'd found a bar with cheap beer and a couple of pool tables, and Dean had made a few hundred dollars in a couple of hours which always put him in a good mood, even if they were Canadian dollars. They'd run into some of the others coming back to the hotel at the same time as them and gone to the bar to have a night-cap.

Sam had ended up having a long chat with Andrew, who he was now 95 percent sure wasn't a killer in disguise. Dean had chatted to Nick about cars and had seemed pretty involved in the conversation, although Sam had looked up a few times to see Dean frowning at him for no reason that Sam could see.

By the time they'd gone to bed, Dean had been in a really pissy mood, bitching about the hotel as if it wasn't a significant step up from their usual accommodation, and launching into another rant about their lack of leads. Sam ignored him as much as he could and went to bed as quickly as possible, frustrated by Dean's whole attitude on this case. Sadly, it didn't look like it had been improved by a night's sleep.

When he got down to the dining room, the only members of the tour who were already down were Paul, Ray and Brian. That suited Sam fine - they should probably talk to all three at some stage today and now was a good time to start.

He fixed himself a tray of food and then went over to their table. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

Brian looked up with something akin to relief in his eyes. "Of course," he said, pulling a chair out invitingly.

Sam sat down and wondered what questions he could start with and not seem like a freak or a nosey bastard.

"How are you enjoying the trip so far?" asked Brian.

"It's been really good," said Sam, glad for the opening even if it was just meaningless small talk. "I suppose you're sick of it though, seeing all the same places time after time."

Brian gave a little shrug. "I love it, actually," he said. "Nova Scotia is so nice that I don't mind coming back."

"Oh yeah, it's so beautiful," said Ray, happily. He turned to Paul. "Maybe we should move here?"

"Your mother would kill you," pointed out Paul.

Ray's face fell for a moment, then he grinned and batted his eyelashes at Paul. "You'd protect me though, right? You big, manly stud."

Paul didn't look very convinced. "I don't know...your mom is pretty scary. What would be in it for me?"

Ray pouted - actually pouted, as if he was five-years-old and his ice cream was on the floor. "Don't you love me?"

"Of course I do," said Paul, giving in without even a fight and kissing Ray. Ray made a satisfied noise and kissed Paul back, bringing one hand up to tangle in his hair. Sam blinked and glanced over at Brian, who gave him a commiserating, tell me about it look. Suddenly, Sam understood Brian's eagerness to have Sam sit down with them.

Paul whispered something close to Ray's ear, and Ray made a sound that was suspiciously similar to a giggle and, really, what grown man giggled? Sam was strangely glad that Dean wasn't around to hear it - no doubt he'd take it as proof that Ray wasn't human and try to stab him with a fork.

Dean came into the dining room at about the same time that Ray was feeding Paul the last of his pancakes, while Brian and Sam tried their best to ignore them and carry on a normal conversation. Dean headed straight for the buffet without doing more than glance at Sam, and Sam wondered if he was going to be in a snit all day. He really hoped not, but past experiences had taught him that there was little chance of Dean cheering up unless he got to kill something or fuck someone, and neither seemed very likely at the moment.

Andrew came in not far behind Dean, grinned when he saw Sam and came straight over to say good morning.

"How did you sleep?" he asked.

"Like a log," said Dean from behind him, in a cheery voice that Sam could tell was faked, but probably no one else could. "Sammy always sleeps like a log." He put down his breakfast on the table, then gave Andrew one of his exaggerated, sleazy winks. "When I let him."

It should probably be weird, hearing Dean talk about him like that, but Dean's sexual innuendo was so familiar that Sam didn't even realise he was reacting the same way he did when Dean was talking about some barmaid in a short skirt until he'd rolled his eyes and given him an exasperated look.

Dean pulled up a chair from the next table and sat down next to Sam. "The breakfast here looks pretty good," he said to Andrew. "You should get some before they run out of waffles."

Andrew nodded and headed over to the buffet without saying anything else, and Dean smiled at Sam with gritted teeth. Sam looked down at his half-full plate and resigned himself to a really shitty day.

****

Dean's mood didn't improve. On the bus, he made Sam sit up near the front and then spent most of the drive talking to Brian. On its own, that wouldn't have meant anything - after all, they were meant to be asking questions and getting information - but Dean spent most of the conversation working in subtle little digs at Sam - so subtle that Brian didn't pick up on them, but after twenty minutes Sam was fuming. He tried to ignore Dean by talking to Gerald, asking him careful questions about previous groups, hoping he'd mention one of the victims.

They stopped at Peggy's Cove at around lunchtime, and Gerald produced a picnic lunch for them from a cooler on the top of the bus. Sam grabbed enough for him and Dean, then took Dean's arm and dragged him away from the others, across the rocks to somewhere they could talk in private. As he'd planned, Dean was too busy trying not to react to Sam holding his arm to complain, at least until they were out of earshot, when he pulled his arm away from Sam's grip.

"Dude," he hissed, "We're not chicks."

"Yeah?" asked Sam. "Then why've you been acting like you've got PMS all day?" Dean scowled at him, but Sam didn't stop to let him get a word in. "It's not my fault this hunt is going badly, and unless I'm missing something, there's absolutely no reason for you to take it out on me."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Maybe if you weren't so busy flirting, the hunt wouldn't be going badly! Just because we're meant to be gay doesn't mean you have to be a complete slut."

Sam felt as if he'd been blindsided. "What?!" He stuttered out. "I'm not!"

"Oh, sure," sneered Dean, "You're not spending every other moment signalling to Andrew that it doesn't matter if you're meant to have a boyfriend, you're totally up for jumping his bones."

"What?" said Sam again, still trying to adjust to the sudden conversation shift. "I'm not! Wait, this is why you've been pissed at me? Because I've been chatting to Andrew?"

"More than chatting," said Dean, darkly.

"Jesus Christ, Dean!" Sam tried to keep his voice down so that the other tourists couldn't hear, but it was hard when he was so angry and frustrated. "Just because he's gay doesn't mean we can't have a friendly conversation without it counting as flirting! I can't believe you're such a homophobe!"

"I am not a freaking homophobe!" hissed Dean back, "I just object to sleazy guys hitting on you. Especially when they think you're already taken and do it anyway!"

"He's not hitting on me!"

Dean opened his mouth to yell something back, then blinked and shut it. He frowned slightly, as if coming to a realisation, then laughed tiredly. "Sam, you can't tell half the time when women are hitting on you. What makes you think you can when a man is?"

Sam frowned, mildly offended, but he had to concede that Dean was right. He did tend to be clueless about these things - Jessica once told him that she'd been considering put an ad in the college newspaper out of desperation before he'd finally made a move. He thought back over his interactions with Andrew and his eyes widened. "Oh," he said.

Dean shook his head. "You're hopeless," he said, still sounding amused. Sam shrugged slightly, too glad that Dean's mood had improved to feel insulted by his words. "Just stop making me look like I can't keep my man satisfied."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Because it would be tragedy if I damaged your reputation."

"I think telling people I'm going out with you has already done that," said Dean with a snort, then he sat down on one of the rocks, facing out towards the sea.

Sam sat down beside him and handed him most of the food he'd grabbed earlier from Gerald. "Well, everyone has to slum it sometimes," he said, "even the great Dean Winchester."

"That's slander, and I ought to sue you," said Dean, biting into a sandwich happily. Sam wasn't entirely sure how his bad mood had been turned around, but he wasn't about to complain so he said nothing and concentrated on eating his own lunch, and wondering if he could get Dean to pose for a picture with him in front of the lighthouse.

****

After lunch, Dean seemed much more relaxed, even when they got back on the bus and headed for Halifax. Sam carefully avoided meeting Andrew's eyes in case he sent the wrong signals, and concentrated on the scenery instead. There didn't seem like much else he could do - talking to people didn't seem to be getting them anywhere at the moment, not while they didn't even know which questions to ask.

They pulled into the parking lot of their Halifax hotel late that afternoon, but Gerald didn't let them get out until he'd given another of his excited speeches.

"Halifax is the capital of Nova Scotia, and it has so much to do," he started, and Dean, who had been sitting forward in anticipation of finally getting off the bus for the day, sat back with a sigh. "We're spending two nights here, so you'll have plenty of time tomorrow to explore it, but one of the things I like to do with everyone is to go to Reflections - it's one of the best gay clubs in Nova Scotia. We always have a really good time, and it means you can go crazy tonight without worrying about getting up early for the bus tomorrow."

Sam glanced at Dean, wondering if they should go. It would probably seem weird if they didn't, but it seemed unlikely that it would help the case and he really couldn't picture Dean in a gay club. Dean didn't notice his glance and just kept frowning slightly at Gerald, clearly desperate to get off the bus.

"I've got some information about Halifax attractions, covering the various museums, the Citadel, the government buildings and some of the best places to eat, if you want to take a copy as you get off," finished Gerald, and then finally let them open the door and get off.

"Hey," said Andrew, as they pulled their bags off the bus, "are you going out tonight?"

"Um," said Sam, internally cursing. He'd been hoping to avoid talking to Andrew until he'd worked out how he should be treating him after Dean's earlier revelation. "I'm not sure yet."

Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder and grinned at Andrew. "Course we are, Sammy. It's going to be awesome."

Sam tried not to laugh out loud at the idea of Dean finding a gay club awesome. He tended to prefer shabby biker bars to any kind of club, after all.

"Cool," said Andrew, but Sam noticed that he didn't actually look at Dean, just kept his eyes on Sam. Had he always been doing that? "We'll see you later then."

Sam smiled at him politely and turned away to get his bag.

****

Later, when they were up in their room getting ready, Dean was less blasé about it.

"See, this is why we needed costumes," he said. "What are we going to wear? Even you don't have anything pink."

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's just a club, Dean. We're not marching in a Pride parade - you don't need feathers and sequins."

Dean made a disbelieving noise, but when it came time to leave he was dressed normally enough in his slightly-nicer jeans and a black t-shirt. The t-shirt was pretty tight, and Sam felt momentarily smug that people were going to think he was with such a hot guy, before the wrongness of that thought hit him. He cleared his throat and looked away.

"Let's go party like we're at the YMCA," said Dean, slightly grimly. Sam followed him out of the hotel room door, wondering if the comedy value of Dean at a gay bar would out-weigh the inevitable over-compensating butchness tomorrow.

****

Gerald was wearing the pink, sequinned cowboy hat. Sam watched as Dean's expression went from he's actually going to wear that in public? to oh God, he's going to be seen with me wearing that in public before he turned to Sam and hissed, accusingly, "You said we didn't need sequins!"

Sam smacked his shoulder then, as payback, slid his hand down Dean's arm to his hand and took hold of it. Dean's hand twitched, then he curled his fingers around Sam's, giving him a dark look that spoke of inevitable, excruciating revenge later. Dean's hand was smaller than Sam was expecting, but larger than any other hand he'd held in the last fifteen years, and he could feel callouses.

"Hey guys!" said Gerald, bouncing as if he was already on the dance floor. "You looking forward to this?"

"Oh yes," said Dean, teeth gleaming as he grinned. "I've got a plan. I'm going to make sure Sam gets enough pink drinks to get him completely wasted. It'll probably only take two or three."

"I'm not drinking anything pink," said Sam firmly.

"Aw, come on, Sammy," said Dean, turning towards him, "Not even one to help you relax?"

"Some of us don't need alcohol to help us relax," pointed out Sam. "Nothing pink," he said again, hoping he sounded as if he couldn't be talked into it.

"I'll let you drive when we get back," wheedled Dean, his voice loaded with innuendo. Gerald smirked slightly, obviously taking the phrase to mean something very different to what Dean meant.

Sam rolled his eyes, but he could feel himself weakening. It had been ages since he'd last got drunk, after all. "Driver picks the music," he bargained.

Dean hesitated for a moment. "It's got to include at least one guitar," he stipulated. "None of that electronic crap."

Sam nodded. "And you drink everything I do," he added.

Dean grinned smugly. "Not a problem. We both know I can drink you under the table."

That was true, and Sam knew he was probably going to regret this in the morning, but it felt like the least he could do to make up for dragging Dean on this trip. He took a deep breath, "Under those conditions, then, I'll drink anything you want me to tonight." Dean smirked, with a slightly evil gleam in his eye.

****

Sam had been expecting Dean to find some excuse to pull his hand away from Sam's as soon as possible, but they arrived at the bar that Gerald took them to first still hand in hand. Everyone on the trip had come, even Marcus and Victor, although they said they'd probably go back to the hotel before the group went to the club.

"We get tired awfully early now," said Marcus.

Victor patted his hand and smiled fondly at him. "Well, we're not spring chickens any more."

Andrew sat next to Sam at the table, his chair slightly too close, and engaged Sam in conversation. Now that Sam was alerted to it, he started to notice his flirting and wondered how he could possibly have missed it before. Well, he rationalised, he just hadn't been expecting it. Who would launch such an aggressive flirting campaign right in front of both their partners? Sam tried to involve Charlie in the conversation as well, but he seemed resigned to Andrew's behaviour and more interested in Gerald's interrogation of Paul and Ray about their wedding.

Sam was desperately trying to think of a way to end the conversation when Dean grabbed him excitedly by his shoulder. "Dude, did you know that?"

"Know what?" asked Sam, swinging round to face him and Thomas gratefully.

"That if you cremate someone with a pacemaker it explodes?"

Sam blinked for a moment. "Yes," he said, thinking, and so do you, because I told you six months ago and you spent two weeks working out if they'd explode when we salt-and-burn as well. Dean must have seen something of his thoughts on his face, because he flicked his eyes to Andrew quickly, and then back to Sam with a twitch of an eyebrow.

Sam grinned at him, and turned around fully, putting his back to Andrew. "I thought you weren't going to tell any corpse anecdotes?" he asked Thomas.

Thomas looked defensive. "That's not a corpse anecdote," he said. "That's an interesting fact."

"Right," agreed Dean. "So... what is your favourite corpse anecdote?"

Thomas quickly glanced at Jerry, who was talking to Brian, checked that he wasn't listening, and then leaned forward. "Well," he started, then launched into a totally gross story about a great grandmother and rigor mortis. Sam shifted so that his knee was touching Dean's, hoping that that was an unsubtle enough gesture for Andrew, and focussed his attention on Thomas.

****

Dean was taking his mission to get Sam drunk seriously, although he hadn't found anything pink yet, and by the time they left the bar Sam was feeling a little unsteady. Dean noticed and slung an arm around Sam's back. Sam gratefully leaned his weight on him. They said goodbye to Victor and Marcus, then headed for the club.

Sam kept his weight on Dean as they walked, musing that it was nice to be with someone who could support him so easily. He'd gotten really drunk on his 21st birthday, and Jess had had to get two of their friends to help her get him home. He'd been just too tall and heavy for her, but Dean took his weight easily, didn't even seem to notice it.

There was a line outside the club, and Dean leaned Sam against the wall while they waited in it.

"You okay, Sammy?" he asked, frowning slightly. "You haven't had that much, have you?"

"I'm fine," said Sam, straightening up a bit. He tried to pull himself together and sober up so that Dean would stop giving him that concerned, slightly puzzled look. He wasn't used to drinking more than a couple of beers any more, but getting wasted on what he had had was just embarrassing. He hesitated, then asked, "Can I have some water when we get inside?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay, but only because," and then he paused and blinked, and Sam knew he'd been about to say 'I'm an awesome big brother.' Instead, he finished with, "I don't want you to whine like a bitch in the morning."

Sam just rolled his eyes and stood up, away from the wall. "I won't," he promised. Dean snorted in disbelief.

When they got into the club, Dean looked around with an unreadable expression, then put on the exact same look he wore just before they went into a creature's lair. Sam clapped an arm on his shoulder and bent down to his ear so that he could be heard over the thumping music.

"Don't panic!" he yelled.

Dean shot a glare at him. "Time for a drink!" he shouted back, and headed straight for the bar. He got Sam a glass of water as well as a beer, and Sam gulped it down.

They stayed close to the bar for a while, and Dean kept the supply of alcohol flowing freely, until Sam was beginning to feel seriously dizzy. The others had disappeared into the mass of bodies that surrounded them, although Sam kept catching glimpses of Gerald's hat in the midst of the dance floor. Dean still seemed to be in hunt mode, setting his back to a wall and watching the area carefully. Sam could see some of the guys around them eyeing him up, and stuck close enough to prevent any confusion. Dean didn't comment when Sam stood right next to him and slouched some of his weight against Dean's side. After a few minutes, he even put his hand on Sam's back protectively.

Sam felt almost bad about leaving him to go to the bathroom, but he figured Dean had plenty of experiences of advances being rejected, even if he was usually on the receiving end.

The restrooms were gross, but Sam was drunk enough that it was more a general observation than the nose-wrinkling disgust he'd usually show. In one of the toilet cubicles he could hear the distinctive sounds of sex, although it wasn't until he was washing his hands and wondering how soon they could go back to the hotel that he recognised one of the voices groaning as Paul's. He could feel himself blushing, and he left the bathroom as quickly as possible, stumbling out into the corridor and hoping this would be fuzzy enough in the morning that he'd be able to look Paul and Ray in the eyes.

The music was slightly quieter in the little corridor outside the toilets, and Sam paused there for a moment to take a deep, steadying breath before he went back into the throb of the main club.

"Hey, Sam!" said a voice, and he turned to see Andrew behind him. Sam suppressed a groan, and slapped on a fake smile.

"Hey," he said. "Having a good time?"

Andrew grinned. "It's been pretty good," he replied. "I'm hoping it's going to get even better." He moved closer to Sam and gave him a heated look. Sam blinked in surprise at how blatant Andrew was, leaned away a bit, and wondered what to do. The alcohol had fuddled his brain though, and he just froze.

Andrew put his hand on Sam's arm. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Uh," said Sam, "I think Dean's getting me one."

Andrew looked unimpressed. "Well, how about I get us a couple of shots then? Tonight feels like a tequila night."

After everything else Sam had had to drink, he was pretty damn certain tonight was not a tequila night, and if he had his way, no other night would be either. "I don't think that's good idea," he said slowly, trying to back away but coming up against wall instead. "Dean ..." He couldn't really think of what a boyfriend would say about Dean here, but hoped that mentioning Dean again might help Andrew get the hint, and maybe he'd let go of Sam's arm.

Instead, Andrew took another step closer, making Sam very aware of the wall behind him, blocking his escape. He was sure he knew how to get away from someone who was backing him into a corner - after all, he was a hunter, right? - but at that moment, he couldn't seem to remember how. "You know," said Andrew, conversationally, "You could do a lot better than Dean."

Sam's brain malfunctioned under the strain of all the possible answers to that. "Yeah?" he managed, unintelligently.

"Yeah," said Andrew. "He always seems to be in a bad mood, we're on vacation but he doesn't want to join in with any of the activities, he calls you names and bitches at you a lot and he can't seem to keep his eyes from wandering." He said it all in a long breath, and Sam wondered how long he'd been thinking about it, and how much he'd had to drink.

Still, some things were too much for Sam to put up with even when he was drunk. He pulled his arm out of Andrew's grip and said, pointedly, "Whereas you can't keep your hands from wandering."

The doors to the main club flew open with a bang, and Dean stepped through, took in the scene with a quick glance, then narrowed his eyes and strode towards them.

Sam thought he was going to punch Andrew, but instead he had his eyes fixed on Sam, and Sam had a split second of realisation to brace himself before Dean was kissing him, hard and possessive. Sam made a startled noise into his mouth and then got his brain together enough to put his hands on Dean's shoulders, trying to make it look realistic for Andrew while simultaneously wondering if this was the payback for his kiss at breakfast yesterday or for holding Dean's hand earlier. Or both.

Dean pulled back after a couple of seconds that seemed to stretch into minutes, and gave Sam a smirk that almost completely covered the element of Holy Fuck in his eyes.

"Hey, Sammy," he said, "I think I'm done here. Do you want to head back to the hotel and try out that bed?"

Sam blinked for a moment, trying to get past the wave of what the hell just happened? that was threatening to sweep him over into a full-blown freak-out. "Definitely," he agreed with a drunken wink when what Dean meant had percolated through his alcohol-befuddled brain.

Dean grinned broadly, almost as if he was actually going to get laid tonight, and then turned to look at Andrew. "Hope you have a good night," he said, sounding completely insincere. "I know I will," he added, pouring innuendo into his voice.

"Andrew was just going to buy Charlie some tequila," said Sam. Andrew scowled at him.

"C'mon, Sammy," said Dean, and he grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him out of the club.

****

When they got outside and the cold night air hit them, Sam suddenly realised just how drunk he was. He draped an arm over Dean's shoulders to steady himself as they headed back up the hill to the hotel.

"So, what was going on there?" asked Dean.

"Bastard wouldn't take a hint," said Sam with a sigh.

"Huh," said Dean. He was silent for several long minutes, and Sam concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other for a while.

"But you didn't lead him on at all," said Dean out of nowhere as they turned into the street that their hotel was on.

Sam rolled his eyes, which made the world wobble slightly and unsettled his stomach. "You don't have to do the jealous boyfriend thing when it's just the two of us," he said.

"Well, you must have done something to make him think he had a chance," retorted Dean.

"I didn't do anything," protested Sam, "I was trying to get away!" He reflected on what Andrew had said for a moment, then added, "It's probably your fault, actually."

"What?" growled Dean.

"He thinks you're a bad boyfriend," said Sam. He tried to remember the list of Dean's Failures As A Boyfriend that Andrew had given him. "You're grumpy, you don't wanna do tour stuff, you're mean to me, and you flirt with other people."

"Huh," said Dean again, frowning slightly.

He was silent for the rest of the walk back to the hotel, where he carefully dumped Sam into bed, took off his shoes, and covered him with the blanket. Sam smiled tiredly at him, suddenly grateful that he had a brother who'd fight off drunk gay men for him, then rolled over and went to sleep.

****

Day Four