Title: ANONYMOUS (Thicker, chapter 7)
Author: Janet F. Caires-Lesgold
Feedback to: jfc@freeshell.org
Archive: by author permission only
Category: Story, angsty pre-Wincest, Sam POV
Spoilers: Falls between "Nightmare" and "The Benders"
Rating: M for adults only due to language and sexual situations
Pairing: Sam/OMC, Sam/Dean pending (next time for sure!)
Summary: Substitute

DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to me. Supernatural was created by Eric Kripke, and is the property of Kripke Enterprises Scrap Metal and Entertainment (Eric Kripke and Robert Singer, executive producers), Wonderland Sound and Vision, Warner Brothers, and the CW Network. This story is just for the entertainment of my online friends and myself, not for any profit.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The rest of my Supernatural stories, also known as the "Thicker" series, appear elsewhere on this archive.

AUTHOR'S NOTE THE SECOND: This is not set in Evanston. There are plenty of other colleges around here, and I'm not picking a specific one. This is just as far as they got on their travels. Is it my fault it's an entirely fictitious place?

DEDICATION: For Tiff, who listens.

COPYRIGHT: (C) Janet F. Caires-Lesgold, November 6, 2006, jfc@freeshell.org Please don't redistribute or alter this story in any way without the express permission of the author. Thank you very much.



"I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?"
-- Emily Dickinson


Max had needed a friend--someone who would listen--and he didn't get it soon enough. I knew that it couldn't have been me, but I wished I'd gotten there sooner so I could at least have helped him find someone. Maybe then he'd still be alive.

All the way from Michigan, thoughts of what Max had done (and what I could do) swarmed around my head. Every half hour or so, I found myself watching the instant replays of my visions, blessedly without the migraine component this time. I said nothing to Dean, who half-sang, half-hummed along with the tapes in the cassette player as he drove and pretended he wasn't keeping his eye on me more than on the road.

Finally we stopped for the night near a small college campus in the Chicago area (where we planned to do some research in the morning), found a motel, and checked into a room. Dean watched me like a hawk while we got ready for bed, but crashed into a sound sleep before midnight. I was glad for that, because he'd never gotten a chance to catch up after I'd woken him up in the middle of the night a couple of times during our sojourn in Michigan.

For me, however, sleeping was a bad idea--something to be avoided. I couldn't relax and couldn't come up with anything to do that wouldn't involve turning on the lights, so eventually I put my pants and shoes back on and slipped out into the night to attempt to clear my head.

Traffic was light on the streets outside, and the neon signs of nearby businesses beckoned me since nobody else was paying attention. Beer signs lined the window of a place called "Troy's", so I figured it would be a safe harbor for awhile.

Troy's was dark, but at least it smelled okay. I had to chuckle at the huge "No Smoking" signs everywhere even while I wished more places had them. There were a few booths around the walls and an empty pool table off to one side, but the bar was the nerve center of the room. I found a stool and ordered something German in a bottle.

I assumed that the clientele of the place was small due to the late hour, and tried to blend in with the group of men each sitting alone and nursing his drink. There was some rock music playing at a low volume despite the absence of a jukebox, so I just sat and enjoyed the quiet for awhile.

Much to my surprise, a second bottle arrived once mine was running low. I looked up at the bartender with a question in my eyes, and he smiled and gestured to a fellow I hadn't noticed in a booth by himself.

The guy wasn't ten years older than I, with short, brownish hair, pale eyes, and nice enough clothes. I made eye contact and raised the new bottle to him, when he indicated the empty bench across from his spot at the table.

I had a momentary thought of Dean, afraid for me and afraid of me, sleeping alone back at the motel. Somehow, I just couldn't deal with him that night, mostly since he knew too much about my psychic bent to relax around me enough to listen to what was bothering me. Having a pleasant conversation with a person who knew nothing about me sounded like a better option for the moment. Assuming I could take care of myself if the need arose, I got up and walked over to where the guy sat.

"Thanks for the beer," I said once I reached his table.

"Join me," he requested, not an order, but the invitation of one who was stingy with words.

I sat without further introduction.


"Is it obvious?" I answered with a tired half-grin.

"You've got a lot of miles on you to be so young. Maybe you should slow down."

I sipped my beer and watched him through narrowed eyes. "What do you do, aside from psychoanalyze people?"

"Teach psychology at the college," he replied with a warm, sneaky twinkle in his eye.

His line worked, and I chuckled with him. "Great. I look for a place to cool my heels for awhile, and find myself with a grizzled old professor who's going to overthink everything I say." Suffice it to say, he was neither grizzled nor old.

He stuck out his hand, which I shook casually. "That would be me. Pleased to meet you. You can call me Grizzly." I liked his smile and his apparent intelligence, so relaxed just a little bit more with him. "You don't strike me as a full-time traveler. Where you from?"

An approximation of the truth felt safest in this situation. "Stanford pre-law."

Nodding and letting his face show he was impressed, he regarded me with a little more respect. "So how'd you end up here?"

My glance at my watch was out of nervous habit. "Had to take care of some things. Might go back. Might not."

He had caught my distracted behavior. "Is there someplace you need to be?"

"Sleeping, maybe, but it's not happening."

Everything in his demeanor softened at once. He leaned in and stared directly into my eyes. "I could help," he offered pointedly.

Taken completely aback, I glanced around the place again with differently-focused eyes. The men scattered here and there weren't just drinking alone--they were all drinking alone but looking, and looking at each other. It may not have been as blatant as some, but I'd managed to stumble into a gay pickup bar.

He immediately sensed my hesitation. "Oh, man--I'm sorry. You weren't..."

My brain went through one of those split-second rationalizations that are only possible when you're trying to cover your own ass. The small connection I'd made with this guy seemed worth pursuing, so the last thing I wanted to do was embarrass him or make him think that he had embarrassed me.

And then there was the small matter of Dean. Dean, my brother, for whom I would do anything up to and including die, and who would do the same for me. Dean, the person I love and need more than anything else on earth. Dean, the guy whose concern for me was starting to strangle me in my passenger seat. Dean, the thoughtless doofus who had told all of our secrets to a woman he had once considered his "girlfriend" and with whom he'd hooked up again right under my nose after he'd made a desperate, fear-induced, but very welcome overture to me.

Luckily, I think very fast.

I interrupted the psychology professor to finish his sentence and adjust his assumptions. "I may not have been when I walked in here, but I could be." Exactly what I was promising to be was still up in the air, but I didn't want to pass up the opportunity to make a friend (or something) of my own, so I reached across the table and laid my palm very noticeably on the back of his hand. "What do you want?"

Still flustered from his backpedaling, he gave me an honest smile and patted my hand with his free one. "It's okay. I'm not what you want."

Flipping my hand over to grip his before it moved away, I insisted, "Maybe, just for tonight, you are."

"But there is somebody else, isn't there?" he asked seriously, apparently reading my mind. Maybe I'd have to work on that skill eventually.

"Not really," I replied as vaguely as I could. Deciding not to think about my brother like that any longer that night, I changed the subject. "Why me?"

My erstwhile friend gave a self-conscious grin. "Ethics. My students are off-limits, but you'd make a good substitute. Still want a whirl with the dirty old professor?"

So we had similar bad temptations to escape--something in common to bind us together, at least for a little while. "Grizzled, and sure."

With that, he polished off his beer and grabbed his jacket. "Meet me just north of the building in five," he said, helpfully pointing the direction in relation to the front door. Giving me a warm smile, he stepped over to the bar to settle his account, then slipped outside.

I made a quick stop in the men's room, contemplating turning south and giving up on the whole idea. But I wanted to give the guy a chance--to give myself the opportunity to "let somebody else drive", as it were. I had been doing things (or nothing) by myself too long, and needed to get out of my own head for a change. Jess wasn't coming back, and she wouldn't have wanted me to refuse myself a sex life if one arose, so to speak. One last glance in the mirror over the sink, and I went out to have sex with a total stranger.

A strong wind gusted down the street, and I had to make sure Troy's door closed behind me. I headed north, finding a protected gap between the buildings right where my new friend had promised it would be. Municipal lighting left the area illuminated dimly, so I could just see him leaning against the wall on the other side of a green dumpster. Taking a deep breath, I headed his way.

"Now, I've only got eight bucks on me, so robbing me would be kinda pointless," I began.

"I normally charge more than that, but you're new around here, so I'll give you a freebie." He caught my startled blink and laughed. "Gotcha." We laughed together until he reached for my shoulder and drew me closer. "Last chance to run."

"I'm not running," I assured him, following his pull and kissing him lightly. We stood kissing next to a dumpster for a few minutes, lips parting soon enough to let our tongues touch, at which contact my eyes closed tightly and I let myself stop thinking.

"Have you done this before?" the guy asked, nonspecifically.

Every answer I could have given would have required more explanation than I wanted to make, so I limited myself to another "Not really."

"I thought so. Don't worry. I'll take care of you." He kissed me some more, holding me close and guiding me around so I was the one leaning against the brick surface of the building.

At that point, I guess his neck was getting tired, because he was shorter than I and had been stretching up to reach my mouth. His fingers opened my collars as he nibbled and licked gently at my throat. I cringed when I heard the embarrassing whimper I emitted at his touch.

"You're not a virgin, are you?" he checked.

"No--it's just been too long since anyone..."

"Better make up for lost time, then." With a smile, he smoothed his hand down my chest, aiming for my belt buckle.

I watched him as he crouched down before me and ground the knees of his nice trousers in the cigarette butts on the ground, then pushed my legs apart a little. He opened my jeans slowly, and I closed my eyes again. My underwear was shoved down suddenly, making me gasp at the blast of cool air on my dick.

"Nice," he muttered more to himself than to me, but I thanked him anyway. At that, he chuckled softly, then went to work petting me to get me harder. I wasn't sure where to put my hands, so I braced myself against the wall with my left and stroked his hair with my right.

I must have seemed ready, for his mouth suddenly wrapped around me and protected me from the wind in its warm, wet shelter. A soft moan rose in my throat, and I did nothing to stop it. He was clever at conversation, and his technique at sucking cock did not disappoint, either.

Stealing a glance down my body, I noted that he held onto me with one hand, but with the other he had opened his own pants and was jerking off, aiming between my feet. His eyes were closed, so I followed his example, concentrating on the feel of his tongue sliding up and down my shaft. I felt him swallow around me, and all I could do was breathe hard as he deep-throated me, amping up my arousal and bringing me ever closer to completion.

Despite my best efforts, an image of Dean on his knees doing the same thing to me floated into my mind, and before I could shove it away, I came hot into the throat caressing me. Guilt gripped my heart, for I couldn't hide what I really wanted, especially from my own fantasies, no matter how wrong it might be.

The sounds below me seemed to indicate that the guy had finished, too, so I remained still as he slowly released me, then went about restoring our clothes.

Once he was tucked in and presentable, he stood easily, his eyes on my face, reminding me once again of my watchdog back at the motel.

"That was great. Thank you," I said to be polite.

"You okay?" he asked, regarding me analytically.

I nodded offhandedly, trying to diffuse the disappointment in my eyes that had nothing to do with him. "Sure. Was it worth the beer?"

"Oh, at least," he said with a smile. His hands slid behind my head and drew me down for a last kiss. "You take care now. Slow down a little, and maybe your 'not really' will catch up to you."

"Maybe. Thanks," I repeated, shaking his hand. "Have a good night."

"Already have," he assured me, then walked out to the street, nodding back at me once before disappearing down the sidewalk.

Taking a moment to catch my breath and let him get wherever he was going, I finally moved away from the dumpster and the cold bricks and went back to my warm motel. Maybe a nameless friend wasn't what I needed as much as the brother and partner I already had.



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