Sam stared at his book, trying and failing to study. He knew he should be paying attention because he had a huge law theory test tomorrow evening, but he couldn't stop thinking about Jess. God, she was incredible. Sam had to ask her out but he had no idea how. If only Dean were here…
No, he would not think about Dean. His brother was part of his past life, and Sam wanted absolutely nothing to do with his past. Unfortunately, that meant Sam had to come up with a plan all by himself.
An hour and several absurd ideas later, Sam decided to just go to her room and invite her to a movie or something. Something casual. Sam sighed, mustering up courage, and stood up to walk to the door.
Then his phone rang. Sam groaned and ran a hand over his face. He reluctantly walked over to where his phone lay on the couch and glanced at the screen. Unknown number. He had half a mind to ignore it, but visions of Dean and Dad hurt or dead plagued his mind. So Sam picked up the phone.
At first, Sam heard nothing but heavy breathing. He opened his mouth to say something when he heard a familiar voice.
"Dammit! Stupid thread!" the voice grumbled. Sam's breath caught. He hadn't heard that voice in a long time, and even though he tried to deny it, he missed it.
"Dean?" Sam asked softly. There was silence on the other end. And then,
"Sammy? That you?" Dean asked, voice thick with emotion. He sounded thoroughly confused, which threw Sam off.
"Dean, what's wrong?" Sam said, deciding to ignore the fact that Dean had just called him Sammy. It felt wrong talking to his brother, but no matter how much Sam yelled at himself to hang up, he couldn't do it. It was like his hand was glued to the phone.
"Nothin'. Nothing's wrong," Dean answered. Even without seeing Dean's face Sam could tell his brother was lying.
"Then why'd you call me?" Sam asked. A hint of irritation crawled into his voice. Now Dean was just wasting Sam's time.
"I didn't call you," Dean sighed, sounding tired. "So quit snappin' at me. Don't worry, I'll hang up now and leave you to your frat parties, or studying, or whatever the hell else you do in college." Sam took a deep breath to refrain from shouting at his brother.
"If you didn't call me, then who did?" Sam said.
"I dunno, Sam. Look, I probably sat on my phone and it called you or something. You can go now," Dean sighed, his words slurring slightly. Sam raised his eyebrows.
"You drunk?" he asked. Because Dean sure did sound drunk. His words were jumbled and he sounded exhausted. Dean let out a harsh laugh, and Sam winced as it turned into a hacking cough.
"I wish, Sammy. I would kill for some beer right now. Sadly, the fridge is a bit too far away at the moment."
Sam frowned."Wait, what? Dean, are you hurt?" Sam could hear the concern in his own voice, and he cursed himself. Dean was in the past. He shouldn't have to worry about Dean anymore. But dammit, Dean was his big brother, and Sam would probably never stop worrying about him.
"I'm fine, Sammy. Don't worry 'bout me," Dean mumbled.
"It's Sam, not Sammy," Sam snapped, and Dean chuckled.
"Whatever, bitch."
"Jerk," Sam responded, smirking a little.
Why did talking to his brother feel so good? Sam had gone to Stanford to escape his Dean. No, not his Dean. He had run away to escape his dad. But wasn't Dean a problem too? Suddenly, Sam couldn't remember why he had ever wanted to leave his brother.
"Dean, where's Dad?" Sam asked softly. There was a pause on the other end.
"Dean?" Sam prompted. Sam heard Dean sigh, and then there was the creaking of springs, so Dean must have sat down on some crappy motel bed.
"Dad's out," Dean stated curtly.
"Out where?" Sam pushed, already knowing the answer.
"He's out on a hunt somewhere."
"So he left you alone?"
"Sam, it's not like that-" Dean protested.
"God, why the hell do you always defend the man? You're hurt and he left you alone!" Sam snapped.
"So did you," Dean muttered softly.
It would have hurt less if Dean had stabbed him with a knife.
"How bad are you hurt, Dean?" Sam whispered, choosing to change the topic.
"Sam, I'm fine."
"How. Bad."
"Werewolf clawed me up pretty good. I've got some scratches on my chest and wrists. But it's fine, Sammy. They aren't that deep."
"Dean, you can barely talk, and you sound fucking exhausted. I'm guessing the cuts are pretty deep. You probably can't stitch yourself up, can you?" Sam scolded, running a hand through his hair.
"Well, if only there was somebody here, maybe my brother Sam, to stitch me up," Dean deadpanned.
"Where are you, Dean?" Sam asked, letting the comment slide.
"I dunno. Some shithole town in North Dakota."
"Dean, get your ass to Bobby's," Sam ordered.
"Oh c'mon, Sam. 'S not that bad," Dean protested, but Sam was having none of it.
"I'll call Bobby to let him know you're coming."
"Sam. No."
"Please, Dean?"
"You better not be doing your puppy eyes."
"I totally am."
"Fine! Call Bobby or whatever the hell makes you feel better, you bitch."
"I'll call him. Just drive safe," Sam said, grinning in triumph.
"Of course, Sam. I would never crash my Baby," Dean said, sounding genuinely offended.
"Oh, and one more thing, Dean," Sam said. God, he felt like an idiot even thinking about doing this, but he needed the help.
"Yeah?" Dean asked eagerly. Sam sighed and stared up at the ceiling, preparing himself for the teasing.
"I haven't got all day, Sammy," Dean pestered, and Sam almost laughed because he knew that Dean would stay talking to his little brother all day even it it meant he would bleed out on the motel bed.
"How d'you ask out the most amazing girl you've ever met?" Sam choked out. There was silence, and then Sam heard Dean explode in laughter. Sam flinched and held the phone a few inches away from his ear.
"God, Sam. You gotta stop making me laugh 'cause it hurts. What's her name?" Sam could almost hear the smirk in Dean's voice.
"Jess. Her name's Jess and she's fucking perfect, Dean. I have no idea what to do." Sam expected Dean to make a joke, or tease him, but Dean surprised Sam.
"Sammy, you're a nice guy and she seems like a nice girl. Just go up to her and ask to study together or whatever it is you crazy college kids do in your free time," Dean said. Sam felt like corners of his mouth go up, and his face flushed.
"Thanks, Dean. Take care of yourself, okay? Call me when you reach Bobby's."
"You too, Sammy."
"It's Sam."
"Whatever, bitch."
"Jerk."
Sam put down the phone with a sigh. He tried to tell himself that everything would be fine, that Dean would get to Bobby's safely and Bobby would patch him up. But Sam couldn't fight off the sense that something would go wrong.
He picked up the phone again and dialed Bobby's number. It rang four times and then went to voicemail. Dammit, Sam really hoped Bobby wasn't out on a hunt. He decided to leave a message.
"Hey Bobby, it's Sam," he started, and then cleared his throat. There was no doubt that Bobby knew about Sam's whole escape to Stanford.
"Uh, Dean called earlier and turns out he got clawed up pretty bad by a werewolf. I sent him to your place to, uh, heal. Take care of him for me, okay? Call me as soon as you get this. Thanks, Bobby."
Sam ended the call and collapsed on the couch. I should talk to Jess, he thought. He heaved himself up, and stomped over to the bathroom down the hall to fix his hair. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, trying to look confident.
"Sam Winchester will ask Jessica Moore on a date today," he stated. He looked okay even if his shirt was a bit wrinkled. Sam took a deep breath, and tried to forget about Dean. He tried to stop imagining gruesome scenarios where Dean never makes it to Bobby's house. Sam cleared his mind of every thought except Jess. Then he took a deep breath, and walked toward his future, leaving Dean and the past behind.