Rivers Deep | Sam Winchester

8. Trouvaille

Тяσυναιℓℓє
Noun.   Something lovely discovered by chance

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A smile upturned his lips as Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynard began playing through the mounted speakers in the corner of the small-town country bar. Amber liquid swirled in his glass, ice clinking against each other and making quiet noise, distinct to that of a bar. He was feeling relaxed for the first time in a while.

Another year of his life, gone, and time quickly approached the day that would mark a year since he had met the Winchesters. Not a week prior, he had gained a year in age. The now twenty-six-year-old hunter sat at the bar, tapping a finger against the cold glass of whiskey in his hand to the beat of the classic rock music playing throughout the bar.

He downed another sip and he was thankful that Brian had volunteered to take Delta for a few weeks, just to keep Noah from being stressed. He always knew what state his birthday, and in turn, the anniversary of Nikki and Lauralie's deaths brought to the boy. With that state always came the alcohol. He had long-since learned not to bury himself in a bottle, but a glass of whiskey every night helped keep his mind away from it.

He glanced to the right of where he sat in his barstool, scanning past the bartender wiping down glasses while a table waitress popped open a couple of beer bottles, and his eyes found there way onto the familiar sight of a tipsy Dean flirting with a woman. Noah shook his head with a chuckle, taking his final sip from his glass of whiskey.

Feeling someone sit down next to him, Noah turned his head back to meet eyes with Sam, who gave him a kind smile. Neither of the Winchesters were aware what this time of year meant to Noah, not that his birthday had passed nor that the most difficult month of his life was passing over for the first time since he'd met them.

"Looks like we won't see anymore of Dean for the rest of the night," Sam laughed, seeing his brother over Noah's shoulder. Noah chortled, "I'd say that's a safe bet."

Sam turned back to the bartender, who looked up with a nod as if to ask what she could do for him. " Whiskey, please," he requested. "Bourbon, rye, or scotch?" She asked, stepping over for a highball glass. "Bourbon," He sighed out. "Neat or on the rocks?" She questioned. "Uh, neat," He concluded.

Sam's past month or so had gone a bit different to Noah's. He kept having these random emotional flares, and these odd and seemingly out of place thoughts in the middle of hunts or other conversations for no reason. He didn't understand at the time what most of them meant, years later he would wonder why he had been so stupid when it came down to everything.

But by every day that passed, it seemed the thoughts got louder, more obvious, would occur more often, and he was growing sick and tired of it. So for the first time since the case in the hotel, he decided he wanted to get a little drunk so his mind would shut up for a few minutes and hopefully he would get some peaceful sleep.

When the bartender set the glass down in front of him, he looked up with a small smile and a nod in thanks. "Could I maybe get a refill?" Noah asked her politely, pointing to his glass. She smiled at him, nodding, "Of course, sugar."

She pulled the bottle of rye whiskey to where Noah's glass rested on the bar top, turning it and refilling the glass. "Thanks," Noah nodded at her, and she nodded back. Both men took a sip from their drinks, savouring the sting of the alcohol as it flowed down their throats and into their stomachs.

"You know," Noah turned to face Sam, placing his drink down, "I'm curious, what made you want to go into law when you went to college a few years back?"

"Well, that's a long answer," Sam laughed, "I guess being raised to learn how to save people, I wanted to try to do something similar if I wanted a more mundane life, so I decided to be the one who makes the case and helps people get justice."