DISCLAIMER: I don't own Supernatural or School for Seduction

A/N: Okay, pretty short chapter, but I wanted to get this posted :) Please review and tell me what you think.


"Madame Grace's psychic hotline, how can I help you?" Sam kept his voice polite and emotionless, though slightly on the cheery side. He drummed his fingers on his desk as he listened to the woes of his latest caller, making 'hmms' and noises of agreement every now and then, and resisted the urge to sigh. What was the point in ringing a psychic hotline if all you were going to do was babble on about how wrong the predictions for your starsign had been this week? Didn't your girlfriends suffice?

He had taken this job at the insistence of a friend whose mother ran a psychic hotline from her home. It sounded like such an easy way to make money; just set up a toll line with ridiculously high prices and hope that there were enough gullible idiots around to keep your business afloat. And one thing Sam knew was that the world was never short of just that kind of person. He had been living with his aunt and uncle for a year now, and they might as well have been brain dead for all their smarts. How on earth he was related to those people was beyond him.

"… so I got the paper as usual, flicked right to the horoscope section…"

Give me a play by play, why don't you. God, sometimes he really hated his job. The calls were hardly ever serious, and though the pay was generous considering his inexperience at this sort of thing, it still didn't make the constant boredom any more bearable. How on earth had he let Jess talk him into this in the first place?

"… it was a shame, because we'd had such an amazing dinner the night before. My husband's a Leo, you know, so he's a great chef, very creative…."

Sam wasn't sure how she had gotten from horoscopes to dinner so quickly, and he didn't particularly care. She had already been talking for three minutes at the rate of $2.45 per minute, which was what mattered in the end. As long as the service was good enough to keep the caller talking and, therefore, spending, you didn't really have to make much of an effort. You didn't really need to be psychic, either, though it was useful when a serious call came along (which was almost never.) Sam didn't really like to think of himself as 'psychic,' though he didn't know how else to explain his… unusual abilities.

"… I based my whole week around those predictions and listen to the mess it landed me in!" God lady, what do you expect from listening to that bullshit? "… goodness, I was so angry today."

"What happened?" Sam managed to sound politely interested, though he felt that talking in a monotone drawl would greatly suit his current mood.

"Well, my horoscope said 'There are inspiring people around you. Let yourself be bowled over.'" Sam cocked a disbelieving eyebrow as the woman continued, telling him of her confusion as to what the horoscope actually meant. What the hell does that mean anyway? Does it even make any sense? "I didn't think it meant that I would literally get bowled over!" The eyebrow rose higher; this call was finally getting interesting. "I was just walking from work down that pretty little street; do you know the one? It's something like Ray… Rachel… Raleigh…"

With great difficulty he repressed a groan, leaning back in his seat and staring up at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. When had his life gotten so monotonous? He was sixteen; he should be out with his friends, getting into trouble or something. Not acting as some sort of agony uncle for bored, middle-aged, stupid housewives. The last time he had gone somewhere with a friend… when had that been? He squinted, brushing his bangs off his forehead as he mulled it over.

"… anyway, I was walking down that street, minding my own business I might add, when the rudest, most bedraggled looking man, a smoker, the disgusting creature…"

I went to the movies with Jess the other week… That had been two weeks ago. Jess had begged him to go along with her, and how could he say no to such a friendly, pretty girl? By the time he had squirmed his way through half of some chick flick called School for Seduction he had been wishing that he did have the ability to say no to friendly, pretty girls. It should be easier for him than most, considering the fact that he was most definitely not straight, but he had somehow never developed the ability to stand up to women. That was okay though; he was under the impression that a fair amount of males in the world had the exact same problem. Girls were just so damn confusing.

"… he ran right into me! Knocked me head over heels, and I must have bumped my head because the next thing I knew it was daytime and I was standing outside a dumpster." Sam frowned at the phone and pressed it closer to his ear, sitting up straight again and resting an elbow on the desk. "I think something strange is going on here." All of a sudden the woman sounded nervous, unsure. "Everyone's ignoring me."

"What do you mean by that?" There was a strange feeling growing in his stomach; a theory was forming in his brain.

"It's like… they can't even see me." This time her tone was closer to terror. "What's happening to me?!"

"Calm down," Sam said, making his voice low and smooth. The woman was panting into the phone, and he could tell she was almost hyperventilating. "Take deep breaths, okay? I'll sort this out; I just have to ask you a few questions." He heard deep, shuddering gasps of breath, and what sounded like a little sob. "Can you answer?"

"Y-Yes." Her gulp was audible as she swallowed down frantic tears.

"Good. Now, tell me your full name."

"M-Maureen C-Carter."

"Thank you, Maureen. I'll just be a second, okay? Then we can sort this out." Again the smooth, reassuring tone. He knew that to her he would seem totally calm, when in reality his stomach was churning with worry. He dragged his laptop towards him and typed her name into Google, biting his bottom lip as he waited for the results of his search to load. He gave a near-silent hiss of both anger and worry, his stomach lurching, when he read the headlines from the website of the local newspaper.

BODY FOUND IN A DUMPSTER ON RAYFORD DRIVE.

Fuck.


"Go slit your wrists, emo kid."

"Shut up, Dean."

Sam sat slumped in a booth in the rundown diner on the outskirts of town, drawing patterns into his tomato sauce with one long, skinny fry. It wasn't the most reputable of establishments, but it was quiet and the food was pretty good. It wasn't like he went there every night after work on the off chance that Dean would be there. Of course not.

"Seriously, you look like your dog just died. What's up?" Dean shot him a concerned frown, simultaneously leaning forward and filching a few of his chips from his plate. Despite himself, Sam's lip quirked, the contrast between the two actions something that he had only ever seen Dean pull off. He wasn't sure if the concern was just a cover for the thievery, but it gave him a warm feeling in the pool of his stomach anyway.

"Nothing. Just some problems at work, that's all." He shoved the fry into his mouth, chewing lethargically, before eyeing up his burger and wondering if he was hungry enough to want it.

"You want that burger?"

And before he could really think about it, he had already said yes. It seemed that he had trouble saying no to arrogant pricks as well. Arrogant pricks with huge hazel eyes, spiky dark blonde hair, hard muscles that bulged under goddamned tight shirts and… he was gonna shut up now. Blushing slightly at the route his thoughts were taking, he shifted in his seat, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

"Sure you're okay?" If possible, he blushed even more, trying to hide behind his bangs as he nodded fervently. "Okay, I get it, you can stop tryna dislodge your head from your neck now."

Willing away the red staining his checks, Sam gave the twenty year old a glare. "Jerk." Dean smirked at him (that sexy smirk) and he thought he might just melt down into a small puddle of goo. Control yourself! "Areyouenjoyingyourvacation?" Argh.

Dean cocked an eyebrow at him, inhaling the last of his burger and leaning back with a hand resting on his stomach. He gave a content sigh and grinned over at Sam. "Care to say that again? With spaces in between the words this time?"

"I-I said, are you enjoying your vacation?"

Dean had arrived in town a fortnight ago, and Sam had met him in this very diner. That night had been one of the rare ones in which the diner had been full, and so Dean had taken a seat in Sam's booth. After they had both gotten their drinks Dean had started talking to him, asking him with an almost practised casualness about the history of the town and what the sights were like, saying that he was on vacation and he wanted to know all there was to know about the place. He needn't have bothered to explain himself; as soon as he smiled, Sam had been well and truly hooked and would have told him anything he asked. It was horribly embarrassing, but it was the sad truth.

Somehow, even though the usually intelligent Sam had been turned into a bumbling idiot by his instant attraction to Dean, they had held an enjoyable conversation, and Sam had found that he liked Dean's company as much as he liked his looks. The next time Sam had gone into the diner Dean was sitting in his usual booth, and he had somehow found himself sharing it with the older man again, and again, and again.

"Meh, s'alright. Think I might leave soon though. No offence, man, but this is a boring little place." Dean drummed his fingers on the table, smiling lazily over at Sam, and the teen felt his heart clench painfully. Dean was leaving?

"None taken." He gave the older man a lopsided smile and tried not to show his disappointment on his face. He was getting phone calls from a dead woman, and now he would probably never see Dean again. Life was great.