He sighed as he sighted the glowing figures on the clock. It was already 3 a.m. and he had yet to finish his revision for the test, which would be held in a few hours' time. Sam turned away from his books to study the still figure on the bed. Jess was sleeping soundly while he studied on, the privilege of being an art student, or anything but a law student. Sam rubbed his watering eyes and checked his phone. He had not expected any text messages or phone calls at this ungodly hour, and was shocked to realize that he had three missed calls and two voicemail messages, all from the same number.

Sam froze as his tired brain recognized the number. It was his father, John. It has been a little more than a year since he had seen his father, since Sam had walked out on his family and came to Stanford.

The fact that the old man was calling him was unnerving. Something bad must have happened, for John to willingly contact his runaway son. Sam's stomach dropped at the thought. His fingers hovered above the 'Play Messages' button, terrified of the news he was going to receive.

A sudden knocking broke Sam out of his reverie. It took a few seconds for him to register that the sound came from the front door, and another few more for him to realize that he should probably get that before it woke Jess up. Dropping his phone back onto the table, Sam strode over to the door and looked through the peephole. A familiar face greeted him, a face that he had missed every day ever since he left for college.

"Dean!" Sam called out as he wrenched the wooden door open, almost detaching it from its hinges. Before Dean could say anything, Sam wrapped his long hands around his big brother.

"Hey Sammy," Dean gasped, "can't…breath…dude."

"Sorry…I…Dean! It's so great to see you! Dude, what the hell? You could have called before you decided to drop by for a visit at 3 in the morning!" Sam loosened his iron grip around Dean and took a step back. Sam took in the haggard appearance of his brother, how sickly pale he looked in the moonlight.

"Are you alright? Is dad alright? He left messages and I haven't got the chance to…," Sam furrowed his brows. If he suspected that something was wrong before, he was pretty sure of it now.

"Yea Sammy, dad's alright. He called you? Wow, that's a first," Dean smiled, but the smile did not reach his weary eyes. "I missed you too, Sam," Dean patted Sam in the chest and proceeded to invite himself into the house. Sam was well aware that Dean had neglected to answer the first question.

"You got a roomie?" Dean pointed to the room where the soft snoring wafted from.

"Um…yeah…yeah. Jessica, my girlfriend," Sam replied absentmindedly, the dread in him growing darker by the minute. Dean grinned and wiggled his finger at his little brother, "Sam, Sam, Sam."

Dean picked up a framed photo of the young couple and grinned even wider, "Wonder what does a girl like her sees in you, little brother. She's way beyond…"

"What's wrong, Dean? Why are you here?" Sam refused to let Dean's digression distract him.

Dean's grin faltered, "Nothing, Sam. What? I can't visit my big-shot-lawyer-to-be little bro? Got a beer?"

"Dean, something is obviously wrong. I'm not an idiot. Just…just tell me. And no I don't have time for a beer. I've got this test tomorrow and…" Sam stopped as he spotted the hurt surface in his brother's eyes.

"Well, I'm sorry to have bothered you at all, nerd. Guess I'll just see myself out. Won't want you to start failing your tests now, do we?" Dean rose from the couch.

"No…shit, I didn't mean that. Just sit. I don't have beer, will juice do?" Sam pushed Dean back down onto the couch and fetched two glasses of orange juice from the kitchen.

Sam watched as his brother sipped from the glass. "What?" Dean snapped. He hated being watched.

"Dude, you look like crap," Sam shook his head, "so are you gonna tell me what's wrong or not?"

Dean ignored him and took another sip of his drink. "You remember the time when we switched dad's beers into OJ? He was so mad after he realized that his beer tasted funny," Dean beamed at the memory.

"Yeah, I remember. We had to do a hundred push-ups and a hundred laps for that," Sam was really getting freaked out.

"You know, I can't believe I'm saying this but I actually missed waking up to you and dad yelling in each other's face. You know, and you bitching about everything. After you left, everything was just too quiet. Dad missed you too. Of course, he'll rather die than admit it. He's proud of you, Sam," Dean smiled sadly.

"What…you're scaring me, Dean," Sam choked. His brother was initiating a chick-flick moment. That never happens.

"Dad, he can be real stubborn sometimes. And so can you. I guess that's why you two keep going at each other, because you two are so much alike. I know you never wanted to live the way we did. And Dad knows it too, but he was just too scared of losing us, he didn't dare to let us go. He's just doing what he thinks is best. He tried his best, Sam," Dean continued, ignoring the flustered look on his brother's face.

"Dean, stop. Please," Sam grabbed his brother's shoulder and forced Dean to look at him, "tell me what's wrong."

"See what I mean? You two really are bossy sons of bitches. Relax Sam, it'll be okay. Just promise me something," Dean swept Sam's hand away from his shoulder. Sam flinched at the coldness of Dean's hand.

Sam grabbed the cool hand, "Dean! What the hell! You're so cold. Are you sick?"

"What? No, Florence. You try standing out there and knocking for god knows how long. You were given extra long legs but I swear a ninety-year old midget can move faster than you do, sasquatch," Dean pulled his hand away.

"Don't interrupt me, just listen alright. I need you to promise me something," Dean sighed and continued, "Don't blame dad, for any of this. You know the saying: 'When life gives you monsters, you just have to pick up a gun and shoot the evil son of a bitch dead'. Our family's cursed, we're never meant to have a normal life, Sam, ever since that thing killed mom. Dad wanted to keep you close, because he wanted to keep you safe. Don't…don't hate him, Sammy."

Sam was speechless, eyes wide and glued to his out-of-character big brother. Why did it sound so much like goodbye? He was still immobile with worry as Dean stood up and headed towards the door.

"And as you already know, I'm proud of you too, geek boy. Make sure you ace your test, you hear?" Dean smirked as he closed the door behind him.

"No, Dean! Wait!" Sam sprinted outside, but there was no sign of Dean. "Dean?" he called out.

"What's the matter, Sam?" Jess yawned from the door.

"I don't know," Sam ran his hand through his hair. Where had Dean gone? He was no more than a few seconds behind Dean. Unless…

Sam darted back into his room and grabbed his phone: Three voicemail messages. He selected the first one. His eyes welled up as he heard the distraught voice of his father. John was always so calm and composed. He knew the words that would follow.

"Sam? Sammy? Dad here. It's…it's Dean. He's hurt. I don't…Yes, I'm John Winchester, how's my…"

It took a few tries for Sam's shaky fingers to select the second message. He was vaguely aware of Jess' comforting hand on his back.

"What's wrong?" She asked softly, rubbing Sam's back.

"Dean. He's hurt," Sam groaned.

"Hey Sammy, they just wheeled Dean into surgery. They aren't telling me anything. We weren't even hunting…he was just out getting supplies and this…this drunk driver…that son of a bitch…"

The third message was recorded after Dean visited him. Sam braced himself for the worse, took a deep breath and held the phone back onto his ear.

"Sam? It's dad again. They uh…Dean's stable now. They almost lost him but he's gonna be okay now. I know you probably don't want to talk to me but call me, will ya?"

Sam let out a breath that he was not aware he was holding. Dean's alright, that was all that mattered. Hesitating whether he should call his father up, he looked up at Jess. "You should call him back, Sam," Jess encouraged.

"Hello? Sam?" John spoke at the first ring.

"Hey dad. Um…how's Dean?" Sam drummed his fingers nervously on the table top. It was the first time that he had talked to his father ever since he ditched his family for Stanford.

"Hey, he's ah..he's fine now. He hasn't woken up yet but they're confident that he'll be okay. And uh..how..how's school?" John was never good at small talk.

"Good. That's good. School's good too. Where are you? I can swing by in a few days, you can rest for a while…" Silence followed Sam's suggestion. He cringed inwardly, expecting his offer to be turned down.

"It's okay, Sammy. Take care of yourself," John was about to disconnect the awkward conversation when Sam spoke again.

"Wait, dad! I saw him…Dean. Before…before I got the messages," Sam declared.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know how…he was here, at my house. Like he was really here," Sam struggled to describe what really happened. What exactly happened?

"You mean like a spirit?"

"Yea, I think. Dean doesn't want us to fight anymore, dad. It's killing him to see his family fall apart. Not that we were the most cohesive family ever, but…" Sam chuckled humorlessly.

"I know, Sammy. He begged me to go visit you, or call you, after you left. And I just ignored him every damn time," John sighed.

"It's alright, dad. Let me come, I should be there. Dean would want me to be there, even though he'd never admit it," Sam tried again.

"Alright then," John conceded and recited the hospital's address.

"Great, I'll be there by tomorrow evening. Thanks dad, for calling," Sam nodded. John Winchester let out a gruff grunt of approval before hanging up.

"How do you feel about meeting my family?" Sam turned to Jess, whose face lit up like a kid on Christmas.

Thanks for staying with the story till the end!
Stay tuned! More chapters coming soon..

-Kelsie