Two Months Later
Stanford University
Sammy sighed, a large smile plastered across his face. He truly had a knack for this stuff. The other students envied him for it. He'd never really been envied before, and was glad that he had been able to come back to school on such short notice. He was even happier that Dean hadn't called in the two months he'd been gone.
As much as he loved his brother, Sam just couldn't find the strength to face the man. The last time he'd seen Dean, the older man had been broken, battered, and weak. Weaker than Sam had ever seen him before. He really didn't want to see his brother like that again, so he stayed away, screened his calls (not that he needed to), and went on with his life.
Sam was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of the professor calling his name.
"Yes, sir?" he asked, realizing just how hard old habits really die.
"Are you going to take that?"
"Take what?" Sam questioned, noticing that every eye in the class was turned on him.
"That call."
Sammy reached into his pocket, where his cell phone was busy making quite a ruckus. He checked the ID, expecting Dean after such a long silence, but instead found his father's name.
"Yes, sir, I am," he replied, grabbing his bag and jumping up. He ran from the room, answering the phone as he went. "Where do you want me and how soon?"
"Relax, Sammy," his father's calm voice soothed, "it's not that. It's Dean. I haven't heard from him in a couple of months. I'm worried."
"He's fine," Sam groaned, knowing the teacher wouldn't let him back in the room after the disruption, "he'll call back eventually."
"I don't think so. I called him right about the same time you two split up and sent him after a werewolf in Wyoming. I haven't heard back, and I recently started tracking the wolf again. It's moving, Sam, all the way to Wisconsin, and no one's stopped it. He was a little emotionally unstable when I called, I think. He may have done something reckless."
"And you want me to go find him," Sam sighed, "when you know that he's probably just biding his time until he can take this thing down."
"People are dying, Sam. Besides, it won't be a long hunt. Just go find the wolf and kill it."
"What about Dean?"
"If you find him," John said, "that's great, but don't go out of your way to look for him. The wolf is your main priority here, son, remember that."
"Yeah, OK," Sam muttered, wondering how his father could be so nonchalant and uncaring about Dean's disappearance, "what's the name of the town?"
"Wild Noose. Mostly forest, but there are a few houses there. Hurry, Sam."
Shaking his head, Sammy hung up the phone. He wasn't sure that he'd still have a place at the school if he left again, but he had a sneaking suspicion that his brother's life was in danger. He didn't even bother heading back to the classroom, just went straight to his apartment to pack.
o0o0o0o0o
John had been right. Wild Noose, Wisconsin was a heavily wooded area with a few small cabins and some campgrounds scattered throughout the mess of trees. Most of the roads were gravel, and the closest motel was about three miles out of town.
He knew it was stupid, but Sammy couldn't help but ask the desk clerk if anyone by the name of Rockford had checked in. No one had, which meant that Dean wasn't there. Great.
Sam stumbled through the door of the motel room and flung his bag down on the bed. He gazed around the run-down room, wondering how, exactly, after two months of being just like everyone else, he had wound up back in a crappy motel. It wasn't because his father had told him to go. He'd never listened to his father. It was because of Dean.
John hadn't known the extent of his eldest son's condition when Sam had left, but Sammy had seen it. He'd seen it in the older man's eyes, heard it in his voice, the way he begged and pleaded. He hated to think that Dean had gone hunting like that, thinking that he was all alone and no one wanted him.
But his father had asked him to go out and find a werewolf, and Dean had a nasty habit of following orders. After the hunt, Sam resolved to ask his dad where the wolf had struck first. He would check the obituaries around there, see if he could find any word on his brother.
He hated to think about it, but it was possible that Dean was dead.
Trying to push the thought of his brother being mauled in some remote forest out of his head, Sam opened up his bag and began digging through it for his pistol and silver bullets. It was going to be a long night.