A/N: So this was written at the same time as Leaving, and they were actually written as past of the same one shot, and How I Am When You're Not Around was a rewrite of this, but I liked both of them...or all three...so here you go.
Disclaimer: As per usual, the boys and their father don't belong to me.
One Sided Phone Call
Sam didn't call. It wasn't like I was expecting him to, but he promised he would and I couldn't help but worry, even with Dad promising that he'd check on him whenever he could. I started taking solo hunts, just so I could work, even when Dad wanted to take some time off. I just wanted to keep working, to keep my mind off the fact that Sam wasn't going to come back and he sure as hell wasn't going to call.
I didn't talk much those first few months. By the time Halloween rolled around, I only answered to direct questions. It's not like I meant to stop talking again, but I did. Dad didn't want my opinions, and he didn't really need my help, and I was so preoccupied with all the terrible things that could happen to Sam, I didn't really know how to think about anything else. I guess, as long as I was sleeping and eating, Dad didn't care what I did to "cope" with losing Sam.
I mean, at first. I guess it's one thing when you're four and you watch your mother burn up on the ceiling and then, as a result, you retreat into yourself, and completely another when you're twenty-two and you do it because your baby brother goes off to college. I didn't see the difference to tell you the truth. I was just as scared then as I was now. Dad did, though, because by Thanksgiving (which we usually celebrated with Turkey sandwiches and not hunting) Dad gave me a speech about how I was an adult, and so was Sam, et cetera, et cetera. He told me that he'd had enough, and then he asked if I wanted to work.
I took the job, but I wanted to tell him how insensitive he was. I mean, I wasn't going to be a girl about it, but he had absolutely no idea how I felt, how this was how I was barely keeping it together. How Sam was alive and probably happy, but I would never see him again. He didn't know Sammy the way I did. He didn't love Sammy the way I did.
The case was a nice change. I took care of it quick and easy, and when I wasn't working, I didn't have to talk to anyone. When I came back, I didn't say anything to Dad. And Dad was the only person who tried talking to me when I wasn't working.
I dreamt about all the reasons Sam didn't call. The worst of all though, was the most likely; he didn't call because he didn't want to. He didn't want to be part of our family from the beginning and now that he was out for good, he would put as much distance between us and him as possible.
I called Sam on Christmas, even though I hadn't said more than twelve words in the past month (most of which had been Sam's name), mostly just to see if he would pick up. He didn't, but his voicemail recording was the first I'd heard his voice since June, and it physically hurt to hear it.
My phone beeped signaling for me to leave him a message. I did, without really realizing what I was saying.
"Hey, Sammy," I said, clearing my throat. "It's, uh, it's me. Just wanted to…um, see how you were doing, college boy." I'd run out of things to say, but I didn't hang up. "Uh, Sammy," I started again. "Merry Christmas, I guess, and if you get this, call me back okay?"
I was actually kind of freaked out by how even my voice sounded.
Sam didn't call back, even though after that, I started calling him every day. He never answered either, and Sam's voicemail was the only one I talked to for the next month. It wasn't enough, those five words, "It's Sam. Leave a message," but it was better than before.
My phone rang on my birthday. I didn't want to answer, but for reasons I don't really remember, I checked the caller ID. There was only one person out of the six billion human beings on the planet that I wanted to talk to. I opened the phone with shaking hands.
"Sammy?" I asked. I didn't believe it. I couldn't, not even when he answered.
"Hey, Dean," he said. "Happy Birthday."
I smiled. I actually forgot that today was my birthday. Birthdays were never a big thing around here. I always made a big deal about Sam's but I didn't want anyone to make a big deal about mine. If it wasn't for Sam, I probably would have forgotten Dad's birthday. I never forgot Mom's. It took me a couple of seconds to realize how old I was turning. Twenty-three. "Thanks for calling, Sammy," I said, like it was no big deal. I could feel him grimace on the other end, but he didn't bitch about the name. I guess because it was my birthday. "How have you been?" I asked a little frantically. Part of me was worried Sam had been attacked by a werewolf or something.
"Good," he said. "Yeah." He sounded a little nervous, and I kind of wanted to ask about the werewolf theory, but I didn't think he would approve. "You?"
"I'm doing great, Sammy," I told him, just as Dad conveniently walked inside. He made a face, but it was a lie, really. I was healthy, and I was happy for the moment, now that I had my bitch-for-a-brother on the phone. "Did you get my call…s?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"And you ignored them, why, exactly?" I asked harshly, but I guess Sam was still in tune with me enough to know I was just worried, and worried generally came out angry.
He apologized, regardless. "Dean, I'm sorry," he said, and it made me guilty to hear him sound so guilty. "I've been busy, I guess."
I seriously doubted he was busy every single time I called him, but I let it slide. Just this time. It killed conversation for a coupe seconds, but as messed up as it sounds, hearing Sam breathe from the other end was enough. "I miss you man," I mumbled, not exactly sure where the hell that came from.
"Me too." I heard him swallow through the receiver, and something told me he was crying, the big softie.
"So how's school treating you, college boy?" I asked, hoping to avoid any tearful chic-flick moments. "Worth giving up all the glamour of hunting?"
Sam laughed. "Dean," he started, and before he said another word, I knew he was going to tell me every single detail of his life since he left home. And I wasn't going to miss a beat of it.
Six months is a long time without talking, and I'm surprised even he remembered everything so clearly. I spent the better part of the day on the phone with Sam, and maybe I was imagining things, but Dad looked a little relieved. It was the first time I had had a real conversation with anyone in a long time, and I missed it. I missed teasing Sam, and talking to Sam, and comforting Sam. God, I just missed being around Sam.
He couldn't stay on the phone forever, as much as I wanted him to, and he said he had to go, and he'd talk to me tomorrow.
I was going to hold him to that. "Yeah," I said. "Sounds good. Whenever you get the chance, Sammy."
When I hung up, Dad looked at me expectantly. "How's your brother?" he asked.
"He's good," I said. "He's really good." And I just sort of broke down and cried, because I missed him, but I couldn't be selfish, because Sammy was happy for the first time in his life.
A/N: I can continue this, and I probably will.