Sam and Mary Jane

It was twenty minutes after two in the morning when the phone rang.

They both groaned at the same time.

After a long trek back through a thick, rocky forest, they'd fallen into bed less than ten minutes ago. Dean was face down on his bed, still fully clothed, his muddy boots dripping onto the dingy carpet. His phone was in his back pocket, but he was holding out hope that if he ignored it for another thirty seconds, whoever it was would get the message.

Sure enough, the phone stopped ringing.

With a sigh of relief, Dean snuggled down more cozily with his pillow.

And then his phone started ringing again.

There was another groan from the other bed and rustling and movement that indicated disapproval of the repeated interruption. Dean ignored all of it and pretended he couldn't hear the nagging ringtone. He was too tired even to reach back and pull his phone out to turn the volume down. Whoever it was would get the message and hang up. He was sure of it.

The ringing stopped and they both breathed a sigh of relief. For a precious twenty-three seconds, the room was silent. And then the phone rang again.

"Damn it, Dean! Answer that."

Flopping over to face the other bed, Dean said, "It's not mine, Dad."

John growled, "It was a minute ago."

"Yeah, well it's yours now." Dean buried his face in his pillow again, not interested in continuing the conversation.

There was a rustling as John, presumably, moved to go answer the phone. The ringing stopped. The other mattress creaked out a huff of agony as John collapsed back onto it. The blessed silence lasted only twelve seconds this time before Dean's phone started ringing again.

Dean wasn't sure who said what, but the profanity in the room would've put a sailor to shame. He shoved himself into a sitting position on the bed, then remembered his phone was in his back pocket. Cursing, he stood up enough that he could pull the offending object out and answered the call without looking at the caller ID.

"What?" he said a lot louder than had probably been necessary.

"Uhhh... Hi. Hi Dean!"

He almost fell off the bed. "Sammy?"

"Hey! Yeah it's me!" Sam sounded as surprised about it as he was.

Dean stared across at his dad who had sat up as soon as Sam's name had been uttered. He was pretty sure they were both wearing the exact same expression. One of complete shock and confusion.

"Dean! Hi! How are you? How's Dad? You guys hunting? No, you wouldn't answer the phone if you were hunting right now…"

Hitting the button for speakerphone, Dean held the phone out between them and met his father's questioning gaze. Neither of them said a word; Sam was carrying on all sides of the conversation just fine without them.

"...and if you were hunting you probably wouldn't have answered," Sam was talking way too fast. "I said that, didn't I? Yeah I did. Sorry. Hey! How are you? You aren't on a hunt, are you?"

John's eyebrows were raised and he said softly, "Something is wrong with him."

"No shit." Dean shook his head.

Sam hadn't stopped talking even while they'd been talking over him. "I know it's weird, but he hunts squirrels. This guy in my English class. He hunts squirrels! What are the odds? I mean we hunt but we hunt freaky stuff like wendigos and ghosts and he hunts squirrels. He got a B on his last paper, but I got an A so maybe hunting is good for the brain. Not squirrel hunting, but real hunting, you know? Because I don't think hunting squirrels is really that impressive."

"Sam." Dean raised his voice enough to break through Sam's monologue.

"Yeah?" Sam sounded breathless. "Hey. What's up?"

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. I'm great. I'm fantastic. I feel great. How are you? Are you hunting?"

"We just got back from a hunt," Dean said, still staring at his dad and seeing his own complete befuddlement reflected in his dad's eyes. "Sam are you drunk…"

"You alright? You guys ok? Dad's with you? What were you hunting? Man, I'm starving. Hey, I'm just gonna go grab a burger…"

"No, Sam, wait." Dean stood up, wide awake and alarmed. Something was very wrong.

"I'll call you, ok? I have something to tell you so I'll call you."

"Sammy, hey, you're talking to me now, you might as well-"

"Bye."

"Sammy, no!"

Silence.

Dean's breath caught in his throat. John switched on the light and was on his feet, too. It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. For a moment, there was nothing but silence as they stared at each other and tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

"Dad, something's wrong."

"Shh." John held up a hand, head tilted.

"He's in trouble. We need to go-"

"Dean, listen." John grabbed his wrist, holding the phone up. "Listen."

Shaking his head, Dean nevertheless focused on listening. And then his jaw dropped. He looked up at his dad and asked, "Is he singing?"

John laughed softly. "That's not what I'd call it."

Dean stared at him incredulously, then looked at the phone, turning the volume up. Sure enough, Sam was singing his very own cover version of Bad Company. More exactly, he was slaughtering it. Dean looked at his dad, surprised to see unhidden amusement in his eyes.

"He's gotta be drunk," John said, over the painful sound of Bad Company dying a slow, off-tune death. He cringed and repeated, "He's gotta be drunk."

"Probably." Dean held the phone up closer and said, "Sam, hey, are you listening to me?"

The tuneless horror that was his brother's singing mercifully stopped. Dean held his breath, straining his ears. There was a moment of silence, then he picked up on a soft voice that seemed very far away.

"Dean? Wh...where're you?"

"I'm right here, dude." Dean frowned, listening to the sounds of movement on the other end of the line. "Hey, what are you doing?"

The sounds of movement continued and Dean could barely make out his brother muttering and talking in the background.

"What's he saying?" John leaned closer, frowning as he strained to hear.

"I don't know," Dean whispered, almost head to head with his father as they huddled over the phone. He heard Sam calling his name from very far away. Frowning, Dean raised his voice and called out, "Sam!"

Something was dropped or tripped over in the distance and Sam shouted, "Dean! Hey! When did you get here? Where are you?"

"Sam. I'm in West Virginia," Dean explained very slowly. He did some quick math. Almost three-thousand miles. Forty hour drive. I should never have let him walk out that door. He shouldn't be on his own.

"I can hear you so good!" Sam still sounded a mile away from his phone. "How're you doing that? How are you talking so loud? Everything's so loud!"

"I'm talking to you through the phone. Dude, you called me."

"I did?"

"Yes, you did. Can you pick up your phone? You sound like you're a million miles away."

There were more tumbling, thumping sounds and Dean could've sworn he heard Sam fall.

"Sam?"

There was a long, low groan, then Sam whispered, "Dean?"

"Are you ok?"

"I'm great."

"Where are you?"

"The floor."

Dean snorted and his dad laughed.

Sam didn't seem to notice. "It's so glowy. Colors. Squares are tetra...tetrahectagons!"

"Do you mean tetra heptagon?" Dean asked, unable to help himself.

"Nuh huh," Sam disagreed. "They're turning into circles. Dude, they're so bright. This is so weird."

Dean's heart was pounding. Something was very far wrong and he was thousands of miles away from his brother. Raising his voice again, he shouted, "Sam, are you drunk?"

"What?"

"Are you listening to me?"

"I'm listening." It was the most coherent thing he'd said so far.

Dean nodded. "Good. I need you to tell me. Are. You. Drunk?"

"Nope. Not drunk." Sam laughed. "I'm on the floor. Did I tell you that?"

"Yes you did. Sam, what's wrong with you?"

"Can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Dean will be mad."

Dean raised his eyebrows. John just rolled his eyes, remaining silent. Dean said, "Sammy, you know who you're talking to right?"

"Hmm. There's no one here." He laughed. "I'm talking to myself aren't I? If Dean ever finds out...I'll never live this down."

This time Dean couldn't help but laugh. He muted the phone and said, "He's out of his mind. Either he's got a concussion or he's got a fever or-"

"Or he's on drugs," John said, amusement in his eyes.

"What?" Dean sputtered. "Sammy? No way. Mr. Upright Citizen?"

"Mr. Upright Citizen is in college, Dean."

"So? He'd never…" Dean broke off at the sound of Sam having a solo conversation again in the background.

John smiled, nodding. "He's in college and he doesn't have either of us keeping an eye on him, son."

"And you think he'd go and do drugs? He's smarter than that, Dad."

"Ask him," John said, still smiling like this whole thing was hilarious instead of terrifying.

"Like I've been getting a lot of good answers out of him."

Dean shook his head, looking at the phone. Sam was still talking to himself. Something about classical Greek literary works. Dean looked at his dad.

John sat back down on the edge of his bed, yawning. He shrugged.

Sitting down next to him, Dean took the phone off mute and said, "Sam."

There was a moment of silence. Then Sam asked, "Dean?"

"Yeah. It's me. Can you pick up your phone?"

"Mm. Dunno. Floor's all squiggly."

Dean sighed. "Ok. Can you crawl to your phone and at least get your face next to it so I can hear you better?"

"You're on the phone?"

"Yes. I'm on the phone."

"Oh. Ok." There was some movement in the background, then Sam's voice sounded closer when he said, "What's up?"

Dean looked at his dad, then said, "Well, I'm wondering if you are."

"If I are what?"

"If you're up."

Sam laughed. "I'm on the floor."

"Are you high?"

"I'm on the floor," Sam repeated slowly, as if Dean was a complete idiot.

Dean wanted to punch his brother. John was laughing. Trying to focus, Dean said, "Sammy. Did you eat any funny brownies?"

"Brownies?"

"Yeah."

"What's funny about them?"

Dean slapped a hand against his forehead. "Sam focus."

"Ok?"

"Did you eat any brownies?"

"Uh. I don't think so."

Well, there went the hope that perhaps someone had drugged his brother. Which left voluntary drug use. Dean bit the bullet and asked, "Did you do drugs, Sam?"

"Just say no," Sam replied firmly.

John covered his face and laughed. Dean was torn between being disgusted that his father wasn't more worried about his brother's state and joining him in laughing. It was getting really hard not to laugh.

Shaking his head, he tried again. "Sam. I need you to tell me the truth, ok man?"

"Whole truth. Nothin' but the truth. Hey Dean?"

Dean wanted to throttle his brother. Forcing himself to be patient, he asked, "What?'

"I miss you, man."

Oh boy. Not that it didn't relieve a lot of the pressure that had been in his chest since Sam had left, but Dean had a feeling now was not the time for a heart to heart. Sam was out of his head. Dean did not want to deal with an emotional breakdown on top of whatever else was going on.

So he said, "Yeah, we miss you too, Sammy. But you gotta focus, ok? Did you take something? Are you high?"

"You'll be mad."

"No. No, I won't. I promise. Just tell me."

Sam laughed. "Dean?"

Patience nearly at the breaking point, Dean gritted his teeth and asked, "Yeah, Sammy?"

"I smoked a joint."

Well, shit.

"I told you," John said, sounding far too amused by the entire situation.

"Well, good for you," Dean growled back. He focused his attention back on his brother. "Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"About what?"

"Why did you smoke a joint?"

"Oh."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Oh. What were you thinking? Why did you do it?"

"Seemed like the thing to do. Seemed like the thing you'd do."

Outrage flooded him, but his dad was laughing again and Dean shot him an offended look.

Dean transferred his glare to the phone and asked, "Where'd you even get the weed?"

"This guy in my Spanish class. Don. He's been in school for like ten years. He holds the record for most changes of majors. And minors, too, probably. He can't decide what he wants to be when he grows up."

Sam was laughing again and Dean probably would have been laughing, too, if it weren't for the fact he didn't find anything funny about his little brother being high on marijuana three thousand miles away from his protection.

"Sam, listen to me, this is serious." Dean tried to gain control of the situation. "New rule. You don't take a joint from a guy named Don. Clear?"

"You make stupid rules." Sam snorted.

"They're not stupid. What are the rules, Sam?"

"No dogs in the car." Sam sounded particularly peeved about that one.

"And?"

"And...don't take a joint from a guy named Don?"

Dean rolled his eyes.

Shaking his head, John tugged Dean's hand so the phone was closer to him and said, "Sammy, you're not gonna do drugs again, are you?"

"Nope."

"Good."

"Dad?" Sam sounded blown away. "Is that you?"

"It's me."

"Hey, dad! You mad at me?"

"No."

Dean glared at his father. "Really? You're not mad at him?"

Before John could answer, Sam spoke up, "Dean's mad at me."

Dean opened his mouth, but John held up his hand before he could speak. John said, "Your brother's not mad at you…"

"Yes, I am," Dean hissed.

"...he's worried about you." John's expression dared Dean to disagree.

Since he was worried, Dean kept his mouth shut.

"I'm ok. Sorry I got stoned."

"It's ok," John said, pulling Dean's hand closer again. "Are you somewhere safe?"

"Yeah. My carpet."

Dean couldn't help but laugh this time.

John asked, "Your carpet in your dorm?"

"Think so," Sam answered, sounding more muddled than he had a moment ago. "Looks like the right carpet. 'S ugly."

Dean snorted. They, of all people, had an extensive history with ugly carpets. Refocusing on the true issue at hand, he asked, "What were you thinking? We taught you better than to do drugs."

John raised an eyebrow. "We?"

"Damn straight."

"Straight what?" Sam asked, sounding lost.

"Ignore your brother," John spoke up before Dean could. "You done experimenting with drugs?"

"Oh yes."

"Good boy."

Good boy? Dean mouthed. "That's it?"

John shrugged. "Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"Get some sleep," John instructed.

"I'm too hungry to sleep."

Dean massaged the back of his head with his free hand. This was going to take all night. He said, "So fix a sandwich."

"Fix a sandwich?"

"Yes, Sam. Fix a sandwich." Dean was getting a headache. "You know, two slices of bread, some meat, some cheese?"

Sam started laughing.

Dean was completely unamused. "What is so funny?"

"Fix a sandwich," Sam said, finally reining in his laughter. "How do you break a sandwich?"

Sam started laughing again and John was laughing too, his head in his hands. Dean wanted to throttle them both. Did neither of them see how serious this was? How dangerous it was? Dad had always taught them to never let their guard down. And now, Sam was an entire country away from them and he was alone and unprotected.

And stoned.

Despite the worry, Dean couldn't hold back a smile as he listened to Sam rattling on about broken sandwiches and how hungry he was and why his Developmental Psychology professor didn't like tacos. Dean flopped backwards onto the bed with a groan. He was too tired and too sore to deal with this. In all honesty, he knew Sam was probably a whole lot safer where he was, on his ugly carpet in his dorm room, than he would be if he was still with them. And, while he wasn't thrilled his little brother was experimenting with drugs, Dean had survived his own occasional experimentation and so would Sam.

Sam was saying something about cupcakes now and Dean wished he would just find something to eat and stop talking about food because now he was getting hungry. About to interrupt his brother, Dean was surprised when the bed moved. Glancing to his right he saw his dad had flopped backwards next to him, right hand over his eyes.

Elbow to elbow with him, John whispered, "I am too tired for this."

Dean laughed. "You're telling me. How much longer do you think we have before he passes out or falls asleep?"

"I have no idea."

Closing his eyes, Dean smiled as he tried to tune back into the conversation on the other end of the line. It was a bit of a challenge though because Sam was barely talking loud enough to be heard and Dean was half-asleep.

"So I think I should," Sam said, voice suddenly extremely loud. "What do you think?"

"Hm?" Dean peered at his dad with one eye. He whispered, "What's he talking about?"

"Last I heard, it was something about donuts."

Rubbing his eyes, Dean mumbled, "Sammy? What do you think you should do?"

"Ask her out."

Dean and his dad sat bolt upright, moving as one. They exchanged a grin and looked down at the phone. Dean asked, "What's her name?"

"Whose name?"

"Dude, focus. You said you were gonna ask her out. Who is she?"

"Oh."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sam!"

"What?"

"Who is this girl you're gonna ask out? Details, man."

Sam sighed. "She's this girl. She's so great."

Dean smiled at the sound of complete awe in Sam's tone. Should've known he'd find a girl and get his heart tangled up already. If he'd been the one there, Dean would've slept with half the girls on campus by now, but Sammy was different. He was probably already in love with this girl.

"She's great, huh?" Dean prompted when no more information was forthcoming.

"So great. She's gorgeous. More beautiful than any girl in the world."

"Whole world, huh?"

"Yeah."

"So you take her out for fancy dinners? Bring her flowers? She sleepin' over, yet?" Dean snorted. "Nah, you haven't even asked her out yet, have you?"

"No."

"Seriously?" Dean was more shocked that Sam had admitted it than he was that it was the truth. "Dude, you gotta move faster than that or she's gonna be an old granny."

"Dean." Sam dragged his name out long and slow just like he'd always done as a kid when he wasn't getting his way. "Can't rush things."

"You are planning on asking her out sometime this year, though, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, you need to stay away from the drugs, Sammy. Chicks don't dig drug addicts."

"I'm not a drug addict. I tried it once. Even Dad's tried it once."

Dean grinned at his dad. "Guess I'm not the only bad influence in his life, huh, Dad?"

"Haha," John said. "Sam, you're supposed to learn from our ill-advised decisions, not make our ill-advised decisions."

"I learned," Sam insisted, sounding like the high was beginning to let him down easy. His voice was slower, quieter."Learned from the best."

John sat up straighter, laughing softly. "If we didn't know it before, we know he's high now."

Dean groaned. He was about to try to talk his brother into going to bed, but Sam spoke first.

"I'm keeping you guys up." His words were sliding together. "Sorry. Did you just get back from a hunt?"

"Yeah."

"You both ok?"

"We're fine, son," John said. There wasn't even the slightest hint in his voice of the anger that had been there the day Sam had walked out the door all those months ago. "Get some sleep, ok? It's good to hear your voice, Sammy."

Dean kept his eyes on the carpet, not daring to look at his father. The raw emotion in his voice was telling enough. Sam's silence was just as revealing. Dean held his breath and waited.

Sam finally said, "Good talking to you guys. Stay safe, ok?"

"Yeah, you stay safe too, Sammy," Dean took his opportunity to lighten the mood. "You hook up with that pretty girl of yours, you better have protection, dude. I'm too young to be an uncle."

That earned him a lot of embarrassed griping from the other end of the phone call and a pretty hard slap to the back of his head from his father. Dean shot him a glare, rubbing his head.

Ignoring the comment, John said, "Are you going to be able to get off the floor and get to your bed?"

Sam groaned, then said, "Floor's fine. 'S comfy. Smells funny."

They both laughed.

"No more weed, Sam." John's tone was firm. "Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy. Sleep it off." He patted Dean on the knee, then walked into the bathroom.

Dean waited till the bathroom door closed, then asked, "You doin' ok for real out there? Need money or anything?"

It took a moment before Sam answered and Dean thought he might have fallen asleep. Then he said, "I'm fine, Dean. Really."

"Yeah? Liking sunny Cali? Wearing your sunscreen? Learn to surf yet?"

Sam laughed. "No surfing."

"You always have been balance impaired. So you're not surfing. What? Are you just holed up in a library all the time like usual?"

"I'm here to learn."

"Yeah. Learn how to be more of a smarty-pants than you already are."

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

A heavy sigh. Then, "Take care of each other, ok?"

Dean swallowed hard. "We're fine. Worry about yourself, bitch."

"Jerk."

If his eyes suddenly were burning, it was solely from the exhaustion of the hunt and the late night. He pressed his fingers to his eyes and told himself he didn't really miss his pain in the ass brother that much.

Clearing his throat, he said, "Take care of yourself."

"I will."

Dean might have been imagining it, but he thought Sam sounded a little choked up.

"Ok, good," Dean said, finding it necessary to swallow hard once more. "Call me again. Alright? Just once in awhile."

There was another very long pause, then Sam said softly, "Phones work both ways, Dean."

Clenching his fist against his knee, Dean pulled himself together. "Good night, Sammy."

"Night."

The line went dead and Dean couldn't help but feel something in him had died, too. Dropping the phone on the bed next to him, Dean leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and pressed his hands to his face. Focusing on the headache helped keep his mind off what he would never admit was heartache.

"He fall asleep?" John asked, stepping back into the room.

"He was getting there."

John squeezed his shoulder as he walked past him. "He's a smart kid, Dean. He's gonna be fine."

"Dad, he just called us after making out with Mary Jane." Dean looked up at his dad, exasperated. "He was high. He's not that smart."

Snorting, John collapsed down on his bed. "You fooled around and lived. I'm sure he's not gonna make a habit of it."

"Oh, that's sound parenting, right there," Dean said before he could stop himself.

He bit his tongue as he met his father's gaze. It was only a quick glimpse, but Dean saw the deep pain that his dad usually kept carefully hidden. Just as quick as he saw it, it vanished behind the shield that John Winchester had perfected over the years.

"Get some sleep, Dean," John said, rolling over and facing the other direction. "We've got a lot of work to get done."

Dean nodded, reaching out and turning the lamp off. He sat on the edge of the bed for a bit longer, then flopped down on his bed and rested a hand over his eyes. It had been an unexpected surprise to hear from his brother. To hear what he'd been up to was even more of a surprise. A surprise, and a worry. Some of the worry had dissipated a little over the course of their conversation, but Dean knew he wouldn't ever be able to completely stop worrying about his brother. He was miles away, on his own for the first time ever, and obviously not making the smartest decisions.

Despite the pain he felt over his fractured family, he couldn't help but grin at the thought of his little brother flying high on marijuana.

This was something he was definitely going to save up for a rainy day in the future.

Hope you enjoyed! This one just came to me out of the blue when I was thinking about Dean's line in the season 8 premier: "Hey, the rules are simple, Sam. You don't take a joint from a guy named Don, and there's no dogs in the car!" I always kind of wondered where that rule had come from and then I had this flash of inspiration when I was rewatching season eleven and watched 11.19 "The Chitters." The part where they discuss Sam's use of "probably oregano" just cracked me up and I put the two together to equal this fic.

Hope you enjoyed! :)