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Sometimes Dean didn't question fate and grinned like the cat who ate the canary when they found this place. 'Dean's Den'. He'd laughed as he'd parked the big black Impala and slapped Sam on the arm before getting out. 'Fate, Sammy boy! Fate!'

The best way to win at pool when you were hustling was to lose. Dean's jacket was draped over the back of his chair next to Sam, the sleeves on his plaid shirt were rolled up to the elbows and he was sweating. It helped that the bar was overly hot, but it made his opponent that much more confidant.

Dean had been hustling, scamming and stealing almost as long as he could remember. He did what he had to do to keep Sam safe and food on the table when their dad was gone on a hunt. The fact they were both over 21 now didn't change that. Dean knew Sam didn't agree with the lifestyle. He'd not asked to live this way but then neither had Dean.

There were times in the last couple of months he wished he'd never gone up to Stanford and talked Sammy into helping him find dad. Sam had been right he said he could it on his own but as he'd told him, he didn't want to. If he hadn't would Jessica still be alive? Or would he have buried them both?

Dean took a drink of beer and put his mind back on the game. He'd dropped 50 bucks the first game but had managed to win it back in the second. It was a teeter-totter game and now he was down a couple hundred but the pot held closer to 1500. Dean watched Sam as he chalked the end of his cue and softly blew the excess from the tip.

Dean was seriously worried about Sam who was haunted by nightmares of that night. It was eating Sam alive and if he didn't deal with it, it was going to kill him. Sometimes it was hard for him to admit that Sam was not a kid anymore. He was a grown man who'd lived on his own for a couple of years at school. Sam had friends and a life that wasn't filled with constantly looking over your shoulder for something that only nightmares are made of.

With a nervous exhale Dean surveyed the table. If he missed this next shot the pot would raise another couple of hundred. Dean knew the strengths and weaknesses of the person across the table from him. He could read people, sometimes too well and that skill came in very handy at the pool table and at the poker table. They were smug and a tad too drunk, another factor to tip the scale Dean's way. He'd made sure there was plenty of beer flowing and talked up how badly he was losing. How his old lady was gonna kill him, she'd divorce him this time if he lost his whole pay check Blah blah bu-blah blah blah.