Disclaimer: Wish they were, aren't. I would however give Dean a very very good home. Sam too. Kripke is King.

A/N: My profound thanks to Merisha for agreeing so kindly to beta my first fic. Your encouragement and suggestions made all the difference. Since I couldn't help fiddling with every chapter before posting, all remaining errors, and all original errors of course, are mine.

This is second season, T for lots of cussing.

OOOOOOOOOO

Sam wasn't at all sure why he woke up. The room wasn't pitch black anymore – the rising sun provided slim illumination around the drawn curtains. It took him a second to realize that someone had just come into their room, and since that someone wasn't flattened on the floor, immobilized under the weight of his knife wielding big brother, it could only be Dean coming in. And he wouldn't have woken up at all if Dean had just come in, well, like Dean. Dean's normal state was hunter - alert and silent. Even after a year back with his brother, Dean could sneak up on Sam like he was sound asleep. And in what tipped the Sam-o-meter frustration level to orange, he'd barely managed to sneak up on Dean two or three times in his whole life. Dean owned the Sixth Sense Stealth store while Sam was only a good customer. So when Dean came in, making enough noise to wake him, then something was definitely wrong.

Sam warily opened one eye and checked the clock on the table between the beds. Dean wouldn't have had enough time to get to a bar for a drink, even if he'd found a bar open at this hour. Of course, no bar would have let him in wearing only a pair of jeans. Eyebrows raised, he watched as Dean made his way across the room. He was moving a little mechanically, stiff legged, shoulders back, and head up. When Dean got close enough for Sam to see his face, it was blank, his eyes vacant and dark, his lips moving as he whispered to himself. If Sam were superstitious, and he was, he would have thought that Dean had gone out for a walk and not quite all of him had come back. That's when his felt his heart start to race and he fought to slow down his breathing.

"… Dean? Are you alright?"

"Yeah". It was barely audible, but at least he'd heard Sam. Dean didn't look at him, just angled for the bed.

"Where did you go just now?"

"Outside."

"Outside?" Crap, he was starting to sound like Dean's echo.

"Not, um, not far, just outside…" Dean sat on the edge of the bed, arms on his knees, hands hanging down, just staring at the carpet while shaking his head - like he wanted to say something else, but couldn't quite remember what.

"Why'd you go outside?"

Dean's head came up and to Sam's relief, his face wasn't blank, in fact he looked a little angry. This time the answer was firmer, but still flat, "I had to answer the phone. It wouldn't stop ringing."

"I didn't hear anything."

"The pay phone outside, Sam." Another deep breath and Dean didn't look angry anymore, just puzzled. "There was no one there. I thought… but," another pause, and finally, "it's nothing." His eyes were open and wide, looking almost black, until Dean finally blinked and breathed heavily through his nose, scrubbing his eyes as he stretched out his back and neck.

God, Sam thought. He's exhausted - he looks almost transparent. "Dean –"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Do you think you could go to sleep now?"

"Do you want me to?" It was like he genuinely didn't know what to do.

"Yeah", his voice deep with concern, "I want you to. You look like road kill."

"OK, Sam." Dean laid down, body relaxing, one uncertain hand reaching to pull up the covers. Sam stood and slowly approached the bed.

"Do you want me to help you with your jeans?"

"… somethin' wrong with 'em?" he slurred a bit. Dean's eyes, green again and already drooping, slowly opened to fasten onto Sam's blue green ones.

"No man, they're fine. They're just on you - let me help you take them off OK? Then you can sleep as long as you want. We'll talk about the phone later."

"Nothin' to talk 'bout, Sam."

Dean was asleep the instant Sam pulled up the covers, breathing deeply, his body lax. Lying on his back he looked eerily still. Sam watched him for what seemed to be hours, waiting for him to roll over and curl up with his knife, snore, drape an arm over the side of the bed, anything that was normal Dean sleeping behavior.

He was still watching when his own eyes slipped shut. He wasn't at all that sure that he was looking forward to Dean waking up.

OOOOO

When Dean did wake, it was to the smell of coffee, the sound of the shower running, and his hand holding his favorite knife. It looked to be mid morning. Sitting up and swinging his feet to the floor, he decided he actually felt pretty good. His headache was gone, he felt rested, and he wasn't too sore.

When Sam eventually exited the bathroom, holding a towel haphazardly around his waist, he looked a little surprised to see Dean and even took a step back, almost as if he was scared of something. Dean cocked an eyebrow at him.

"What?"

"I think we should stay another day". Sam took a breath, like he was preparing himself for an argument. Dean couldn't think of anything to say immediately, so he just continued to look at Sam expectantly. The kid looked nonplussed, but straightened a little and pulled up his towel.

"We don't have another job lined up yet and we get free high speed wi-fi here. The Central Library on Main has a good reference section. We can do research here as well as anywhere. Would that be OK with you?"

Dean thought that might be a good idea but he'd just found the donuts. He was too busy contemplating the selection to reply right away. Finally picking one, he turned towards Sam, and said "Sure thing" before pushing an entire glazed donut into his mouth. Now why, he wondered, did Sam look at him like he'd just swallowed a fly or something? He tried raising his other eyebrow, and changed his expression to mildly inquisitive.

"You mean – yes, you don't mind staying?"

"Yeah, that's what I said, didn't I? Show me your back so I can check the stitches. And did you leave any hot water?"

As soon as Dean assured himself that the stitches held and re-bandaged the worst of the cuts, and after sternly reminding Sam he wasn't to lift or carry anything heavy, he showered. As soon as he was dressed, Sam cleared his throat. Shit, he knew that noise all too well. Looking up, sure enough, Sam had the look – he was back to on-going research for his documentary 'The Mystery of Dean."

"So tell me about hearing that phone?"

Sam was acting deceptively casual. Dean got an image of himself, lying on a couch, while Sam held a pen poised to take notes. "What about the phone, Mr. Alexander Graham Bell?"

"There wasn't a phone ringing this morning". Dean opened his mouth to refute this, but Sam plowed on, "I would have heard a ringing phone too and there was nothing."

"You didn't hear it? I can't believe it! It was the payphone outside. It was one of those old fashioned rings too – remember how old phones used to sound? It was more like one of those triangle thingies in those old westerns – you know, the thing they would ring to get cowboys to come in for dinner? And it rang for fucking ever."

Sam stared at Dean in disbelief.

"I was right here, bro, and I'm not deaf. Where's the pay phone again?"

"Well, it's not like its hiding or anything, Sam. Just open the door and look left. But when I answered, ah, there was no one on the line or anything." Dean scrubbed his hand through his hair. "I thought at first, but no one, um, nothing was there." He couldn't seem to get a sentence out of his mouth. "So I hung up and came back to the room. At least no one called the number again."

Dean couldn't stop blinking. He stood, walked to the window and opened the room curtains enough to see out. The sun was way too bright, but his vision seemed OK.

"I'm pretty sure this has more to do with the quality time you spent with the Tidy Bowl man last night then an actual phone ringing ..."

"Yeah, whatever". This conversation was now officially over even if Sam didn't know it yet. "Look, I saw a newsstand yesterday. Let's pick up an armload of newspapers and take them with us to lunch." He slipped a long sleeve denim shirt on over his tee, and started to load up. Wallet - check, car keys - check, cell phone - check, pistol in waist band, knife in his boot – check check, silver knives in wrist holsters – and damn if those weren't fine new kick ass Simon Templar cool weapons, dude – check, flask of holy water - check, flask of booze – check, Sam – not moving.

"Something else, Professor?"

"Just wondering where you put it all Dean. You just ate half a dozen donuts and now its lunch time?"

"Dude, it's going to take an hour to get downtown to the papers and then back to that good diner on 15." He quickly checked his watch, "and there'll be a line. By the time we get a booth, I'll be starving." A quick smile – "And so will you. You've got to learn how to time things, Sam. I keep trying to tell you. Timing is everything."

Escorting Sam to the car, Dean tried again to remember that phone call. He'd heard something, hadn't he? Every time he tried to think about it, his brain scrambled away to something else. And his eyes felt weird. When he turned to say something about it to Sam, like maybe he should salt and burn the damn phone, it all slipped away again, leaving Dean edgy and frustrated. What was he so worried about?