Dean took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He had faced horrors that most people confine to their nightmares, he had even faced the prospect of death. But, his cheap cell phone was clenched up in his quaking fist and his heart clenched up uncomfortably, wave after wave of crippling anxiety hitting him until he had enough gumption to open it and dial Sammy's number.
It had been almost eight months, and Dean and his father were on the opposite end of the country from Sam, in Virginia of all places, tracking a number of strange deaths that was coming to an inevitable head. Dean hadn't stopped thinking about Sammy-his baby brother, alone in some dorm room, working his ass off, of course. Not thinking about Dean. Not thinking about guns or ammo or exorcisms or their father. Happy, Dean hoped.
He sat down on the edge of his motel room bed and bit his lip. Maybe Sammy would have a new phone number. Maybe he wouldn't answer. Dean heard his father milling about some research materials. He dialed the number slowly, measured, carefully, and pressed the little green button. He exhaled again, held his breath and pressed the phone to his ear.
"Who's that?" Dean's father asked, glancing at his son in the corner of his eye. Dean remained seated, his back to his father, and did not answer. Three rings, four. Suddenly, Dean heard a click on the other end. Then, voices.
"Guys, shut up. Just one sec, Jess. Hello, this is Sam Winchester?" Dean could hear a smile in his little brother's voice. He wondered who Jess was. He wondered about the people in the background. He couldn't be sure, but it sounded like Sammy was loved.
"Sammy," Dean said after a brief pause. His heart dropped when Sam fell silent.
"Dean?" Sam asked breathily. Dean smiled.
"I thought you'd recognize my number," Dean replied.
"I-yeah, sorry, there were a bunch of people in my room, what's going on?" Sam replied, sounding alarmed. Dean shut his eyes.
"Nothin', Sammy. I was just… you know. How're you doing, anyway?"
"I'm… good!" Sam laughed and Dean felt his chest swell with affection. "Busy, but good, you know?"
"That's great, Sammy," Dean replied, smiling in spite of himself and his father, who was watching carefully. "Who's Jess, anyway?"
"Just a friend," Sam replied a little too quickly. After a pause, both brothers began laughing, and it was so easy to return to the effortless brotherly love they had known all their lives.
"Listen, I'm sorry," Dean said suddenly. "I'm sorry I haven't, you know… been in touch much. Just, you know, when you left, I wasn't… I didn't really…"
"Dean," Sam interrupted, "It's fine. I'm glad you're doing good. I miss you a hell of a lot sometimes."
"Yeah, me too," Dean confessed. He glanced at their father. John was seated with papers in his lap. Dean silently gestured to give the phone over to him, but John refused, eyebrows knitting together uncomfortably as he held up a hand in protest. John felt a rush of guilt when he saw his older son's disapproving gaze, a thin veil for what John knew was profound pain. He pursed his lips and returned to his research.
"Is dad there?" Sam asked suddenly, as though reading Dean's mind. Dean swallowed.
"Dad? Nah, he's, ah… out, food run," Dean replied easily. "He misses you, too."
Sammy laughed on the other end. "You sure about that?"
"Damn right," Dean said, making brief eye contact with his father. "We're proud of you, Sammy."
There was another pause.
"You mean that?" Sam asked, his jaw clenching.
"Yeah, Sammy."
Another silence.
"Hey, I'm still waiting for you to come visit me," Sam said, putting his effort into sounding as upbeat as possible. He knew they wouldn't visit,
"One of these days," Dean replied. "I don't know how well I'd fit in at the nerd convention."
Sam rolled his eyes, as though Dean could see him. "You'll be fine."
Another awkward silence.
"Hey, listen, I've got some plans tonight, I should probably run-" Sam interjected.
"Yeah, yeah, sure," Dean replied just as urgently. "Hey, but listen… call sometime, okay?"
"Yeah, Dean."
"I miss you, Sammy."
"You too, Dean."
Dean heard a click from the other end. He pulled the phone from his ear and watched as the call timer ended. Less than five minutes. He sat for awhile, his face in his hands at the edge of the bed. After several minutes, he stood and turned to face his father. John looked up again, failing to mask his guilt in front of his son, and Dean stood tall while John sat. Dean, stoic, disappointed and hurt, stared at his father for just a moment before briskly opening the door and walking out.
"Where're you going?" John asked suddenly.
"Food run," Dean replied quickly before letting the door slam behind him.
Sammy held the phone in his hands. He had worried that he might never hear his big brother's voice again, and he couldn't help but feel ecstatic. After all, while his friends all received worried phone calls and notes and care packages from their families, Sammy couldn't help but to have felt dejected. Dean didn't hate him for leaving. Dean didn't think he abandoned his family. Dean wanted to stay his big brother. Dean worried.
Sammy, now alone in his dorm room, set the cell phone gingerly on his bedside table. He sat at his desk, piled high with books and homework and notes, and, before he could even anticipate it, doubled over, face in hands, and broke into tears.