It took all of Sam's concentration not to look back at Dean for the remainder of the three hour class. Wexler prattled on about urban legends while most of the class listened attentively. Clearly Michelle Mancini's death had piqued their interest in the subject. On any given day, Sam would have been paying as much attention to Wexler's lecture as he possibly could. He enjoyed the class, and having had that vision last night he was keen on learning as much as he could about urban legends.

But now that he knew that Dean was here, actually here, he felt it increasingly difficult to be fully tuned in to Wexler's explanation of urban legends detailing cultural admonitions. Once or twice, he glanced back to where Dean was sitting, just to make sure that he really was there and that Sam, through some psychological defect, hadn't merely imagined his older brother's presence. But Dean was there, no denying it. He seemed to be paying more attention to Wexler's lecture than Sam was and a suspicion as to why his brother was there in the first place formed in Sam's mind.

Of course, he thought bitterly, one tiny little urban legend style murder and he probably thinks there's an ancient entity at the foot of it. Despite his initial shock and anger at Dean being at Stanford, he couldn't help but feel a little put out upon coming to this conclusion. He'd been hoping that Dean was there for him, although he didn't quite know why. He half laughed at his own stupidity for thinking that his brother, rife with worry at the news of a murder at Stanford, had come careening through the dark, stormy night like Sir Lancelot to the rescue. Dad had probably told him to come up here and handle the situation, maybe to even try and reason with Sam.

And after just about nine months there's not a snowball's chance in hell that I'm letting that happen, Sam reassured himself as Wexler finally dismissed them at the end of class.

"Remember," Wexler told the students as they alighted from their desks, "I want you to really read that book tonight. Try and get a better understanding about how urban legends affect our culture."

"They're certainly affecting it now." Brenda muttered, gathering her things and ignoring the scathing look Natalie gave her. "Someone out there must have been really attentive in Wexler's seminar last year." She glanced up at the back row and suddenly her whole demeanor changed. She stood up straighter; a smile playing over her lips, her eyes sparkling with the kind of interest Sam had only ever seen her reserve for Paul.

"Who is that?" she asked.

"Who's who?" Sam replied, knowing full well who she was talking about but giving the chance of him being wrong the benefit of the doubt.

"That tall glass of water at the back of the room. I think he's looking at me!" Brenda suddenly looked very excited and shook her bushy hair away from her eyes.

Sam sighed inwardly and then shook his head, deciding to throw caution to the winds.

"Tall guy? Lean muscular look? Dirty blonde hair with freckles and eyes the color of moss?"

"Yeah," Brenda answered, looking at him in surprise. "Do you know him?"

"If he's wearing layers then he's my older brother." Sam tugged his book bag over his shoulder, ignoring Brenda's look of shock. "Want to join me for lunch, Nat?"

Natalie shook her head. "Sorry. I'm going to go see Paul about something." Casting Sam an apologetic look, she stood up and hastily exited the room. Brenda was too distracted taking in Dean to pay much attention to what Natalie had just said. Sam rolled his eyes. He knew Dean wanted to talk and he'd rather speak to him in private than with Brenda tagging along and ogling him.

"Brenda, I think your best friend is making a move on your man." Sam said idly. Most of the students had left the class by now, with the exception of himself, Brenda, Damon and Dean. Wexler, who was putting away the slide projector, gave the remaining stragglers a curious stare and Sam felt keener than ever to get out of the building and talk to Dean.

"What?" Brenda said distractedly, looking around. "Hey, where's Natalie?"

"Most likely going to the newsroom." Sam said. Brenda's eyes widened and then she hastily pulled her sweater over her tank top, muttering something about hos over bros. She gave Dean one last look of interest before dashing out of the class. Shaking his head, Sam slung his book bag over his shoulder and made to leave when Damon stopped him. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean's body tense. Years of being a hunter had given him the somewhat innate ability to read body language, and there was so much simmering tension between Damon and Sam that you didn't need to have a license to kill demons to see it.

"Sorry for that little stunt." Damon said and Sam was surprised the see that he both looked and sounded sincere. The soda and Pop Rock mixture had dried on his shirt, making the fabric sticky and greenish. It must have sucked sitting in class for three hours with that kind of crap drying on you. Then again, Damon had brought it on himself.

Sam shrugged. "You got your fifteen minutes." He made to move passed Damon, but the shorter boy put his hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam saw Dean sitting up straighter in his seat, watching the two of them intently, ready to strike if necessary. Luckily for everybody involved, that would not be something Dean would have to resort too.

"Look," Damon said, looking Sam square in the eyes, "I know you think I'm the world's biggest dickhead right now..."

"Universe's biggest dickhead is more like it." Sam interjected.

"But," Damon went on as though he hadn't heard Sam, "there's a lot I'd like to talk to you about, okay? Will you just give me that for now?"

Sam looked into those blue-grey eyes and felt his resolve weakening. This could very well be another one of Damon's attempts to get with him again. But then again, he might actually have something to say. And God damn it if Sam didn't still have feelings for Damon, no matter how much of a colossal asshole he'd become. Sam glanced at Dean quickly. He thought of Dean's reaction to learning that Sam and Damon had been doing the horizontal tango together more than once at the beginning of the year. Would Dean even care? Would he be jealous? Hell, it would give Sam satisfaction to see how Dean would react once he learned that Sam was doing fine without him and Dad. Well...as fine as he could be. Looking back at Damon's imploring gaze, Sam felt the last of his defenses shatter.

"Okay," he said with a soft smile. "Not now though. I've got...another appointment."

Damon glanced at Dean and nodded. "Alright. Come by the frat house tonight around eight. We'll talk then."

"Don't make me regret this Damon." Sam told him warningly. In answer, Damon gave him his usual goofy grin and then turned and followed Brenda out of the class, the door banging ominously closed behind him and echoing through the empty classroom like a gunshot. Still by his seat in the front row, Sam looked up at his older brother who had gotten to his feet and was looking down at him with what could only be described as awkward expectation.

"Mr. Winchester?" Wexler asked behind him. "Can I help you with something?"

Not turning around, Sam shook his head. Taking a deep steadying breath, he mounted the steps to the door, completely ignoring Dean as he passed. He felt rather than saw his older brother follow him and did not turn to look at him or even acknowledge his presence until they were out of the psych building. He marched across the green, feeling Dean follow him, ignoring the calls of students he passed. He walked across the campus over to the bell tower, where he proceeded to mount the rickety old staircase to the top floor where the big bells swayed ominously overhead, creaking in the slight breeze. As they walked, Sam felt his anger mounting. How the fuck could Dean just come here and expect everything to be worked out? Did he even want to work anything out? What if he'd gotten involved with someone else?

You mean just like you did? The rational part of his brain said.

As he stood against the railings of the balcony that overlooked this area of the school, his eyes turned to the sky. He didn't know what he felt. The walk over here had served to build up his ire at Dean, but he knew the moment he turned around and looked into those big green eyes, he'd lose all of his resolve, much the same way he'd done with Damon back at class. What was it about eyes that always got to him?

"Sam..." Dean said tentatively.

His voice...Oh God, his voice. Sam had been longing to hear it for so long. Taking a deep breath, he turned, prepared to unleash holy hell on his brother. But when he finally stood and faced Dean and saw him looking so anxious, saw the small hope in his eyes, Sam's anger vanished. He rushed at Dean, throwing his arms around his big brother and holding him like he was going to fly into the atmosphere at any moment. To his immense relief, Dean did not pull way. He wrapped his strong arms around Sam and held him tightly, the way he had all those years ago when they'd first taken that one big step over the wall of brotherly love and into the realm of something much more intimate.

"God, Dean..." Sam whispered, inhaling the scent that was his older brother: leather, aftershave and sweat. The smell he wished he could bottle up and hang onto forever. His body shaking, Sam let his head fall on Dean's shoulder and was relieved when Dean did not object to the show of affection. Despite the anger that had been rising in him since class, he couldn't help but completely get lost in Dean's embrace. As angry as he'd been, he couldn't help but face the truth. He'd missed Dean. And now that he was here, Sam felt months of stress roll off of him like water off a duck's back.

He looked up into Dean's eyes and was shocked to feel tears spilling from his own. Dean had always had a better grip on his emotions than Sam...or at least that's what Sam had thought. He of all people knew that behind Dean's rough, macho exterior there was a sensitive soul. Not that Dean would ever admit to that.

"You look good Sam." Dean said with a smile.

Sam grinned, wiping at his eyes. "You too."

For a moment the two brothers just stood getting a good look at each other. Although it had only been eight months since Sam had least seen Dean, he was alarmed to see just how tired and care worn his older brother looked. There were dark circles under his eyes and his jaw was peppered with unshaven stubble. His leather jacket hung looser off his frame than it had the last time Sam had seen him. Had his leaving really had that much of an impact on him?

Dean grinned nervously. "You alright?" Dean asked, his voice rife with concern.

Sam blinked. "Yeah. Just happy to see you is all."

Dean nodded, looking like he was stealing himself to say something. He bit his lower lip. "It's just...I heard about that girl...that Mancini girl...and I thought maybe you needed help."

Sam blinked again, his heart sinking. Of course Dean was only here because of the murder. He hadn't come here to see him at all. Mentally kicking himself, Sam assumed a tone of nonchalance and said, "Oh," not meeting Dean's eyes.

Dean cocked his head to the side.

"What's wrong, Sam?" he asked.

"Nothing," Sam said a little more firmly than he meant too. He felt the anger prickling his insides again and took another deep breath, looking up at the large bronze bells swinging overhead.

"Bullshit," Dean said. "You're pissed about something, so spill."

"Why bother?" Sam said, finally looking Dean in the eye, his own blazing angrily. "It's not going to change your mind."

"What the fuck Sam?" Dean looked surprised. "Don't be like that. There's something wrong and I wanna help."

"Great." Sam muttered. "After how many fucking months of not even answering the phone when I just wanted to hear your voice you suddenly show up. Maybe, just maybe I wanted you to be here for something else."

Dean looked down, his eyes bright.

"Sammy," he said softly.

"Don't call me that," Sam snapped. "You lost the right to call me that after you beat the shit out of me for nothing."

Dean looked back up at his brother, his eyes pained at the memory. Had he been trying to forget it this whole time? Sam had, but the extent of the emotional and physical damage had been too much for him to just sweep under the rug. There were still nights when he would dream of that day back in August when Dean had freaked out on him after Sam had pushed him to finally move out. Even in his dreams he felt the sting of Dean's punches, the mental anguish that he'd felt when his brother and lover had turned and walked out of the motel, leaving Sam on the floor broken and crying. He'd packed his bags that night and left for Stanford, having gotten the admission letter earlier that week. He'd ignored it in the hopes that Dean would find a place for them away from John. Just another wish that had come crashing down around his ears.

"Sam..." Dean said, his voice breaking, "you've got no fucking idea how much I hate myself for what I did." Sam's glare softened slightly when he saw the regret in his brother's eyes. "I know this might not mean a lot now," Dean continued, "but I've never forgiven myself, not for one fucking second, for what I did to you that night. When I got back to the motel and saw you were gone...I just...I lost it. I cried like a baby Sammy. I couldn't believe what I'd made you do. That I'd pushed you away. But it happened. And...and I'd like to start over...if that's okay."

Dean wasn't looking at Sam now. He was staring out over the quad as the bells swayed in the breeze, his eyes bright with unshed tears. Sam looked down at the wooden floorboards, his mind and heart racing. Dean was being sincere. He'd always been able to tell when Dean was just bullshitting and when he really meant what he said. And this...this was most definitely one of those times. Taking a deep breath, Sam placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, rubbing it softly.

"Dean," he said quietly, "I...thank you for saying that. It...it really means a lot to me."

Dean said nothing. Dean was only ever good with the emotional stuff when Sam was around, but even then he still felt a need to maintain that wall of machismo. Finally he nodded and looked over at Sam, smiling.

"I didn't just come here for the murder, y'know." Dean said. "I wanted to see you. Really. I missed you baby."

Sam's eyes widened and Dean's did the same. He hadn't called Sam baby in months. The sheer fact that he'd used this endearment seemed to resonate with both of them and they locked eyes, stormy green meeting icy blue. In Dean's eyes, Sam was able to see the fear and hope and regret that Dean was trying so hard to hide. He sighed. He didn't want to be angry at his brother anymore, but the pain was still there, and the memory was etched into his mind.

He sighed.

"Dean," he said softly, "I'm happy that you're here. Happier than I'm letting on right now. But it's just...hard, y'know? I still want you more than anything and you made it really clear what you think of us and what we had. But I'll never, ever forget it and as much as I've tried moving on I can't and I won't." He inhaled deeply. "I'm not telling you to fuck off or anything. Having you here...it makes a lot of this easier. And I know that you also wanna get to the bottom of that murder. So I'll help. But I'll be God damned if I'm going to try and bury how I'll feel. Because whatever you may think, I know it's not wrong. I've never felt wrong about it." Sam leaned against the railing next to the staircase and looked back up at the bells. He knew the hour was going to toll soon and he had a study period next.

Dean stood motionless for a moment, staring at Sam, his eyes incredibly focused, his face an unreadable mask. After several moments of silence, he sighed and straightened up.

"Okay Sammy." he said, the habit of referring to Sam as such still not broken. "I understand."

Sam looked up at Dean and grinned, nodding.

"We better get out of here." Sam said. "The bell's going to ring soon and I'd rather keep my hearing."

Dean nodded and the two of them descended the rickety wooden staircase and made it out of the bell tower just in time for the bell to ring signaling the hour.

"How'd you get here so fast?" Sam asked Dean as they started across the green together.

"I drove." Dean said with a wise ass grin. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Seriously though. Most people didn't find out about the murder until this morning." Sam pressed. "It'd be kind of hard to get here from Idaho in fourteen hours without magic."

"Idaho?" Dean arched an eyebrow. "Who says I was in Idaho?"

"But that's where..." Sam trailed off and mentally smacked himself for being so naive. Idaho was where they'd been when he'd run away. The chances of Dean and John remaining there were virtually non-existent. Hunting kept them on the move, just one of the many things Sam resented about his family's calling. "Where were you then?" Sam asked.

"Redding." Dean answered, lowering his voice as they ducked into the library where Sam usually went to Study when he didn't feel like going back to the dorms. He tried very hard to ignore the lustful glances that were being thrown Dean's way.

"Redding!" He hissed in complete shock. Redding was only four hours away from Stanford. "Why the hell didn't you visit if you were that close?"

"Keep your voice down, dude." Dean said, shooting the librarian a furtive glance. "I've only been in Redding for a week. I was planning on visiting when I heard on the early morning news about that Michelle Mancini chick."

Sam glanced sideways at Dean as they found a secluded corner in Stanford's expansive old library. Dean had been planning on visiting him? He wasn't just here for the murder then. Sam smiled faintly as the thought helped to alleviate some of the tension he felt.

"I had to...bend the rules of the road to make it here as fast as I did." Dean said. Sam chuckled. Dean couldn't drive fifty-five. Not in his beloved Impala. Thinking of the big black beauty that was Dean's second love, Sam said, "How long had you been on campus before you went to my class?"

"Long enough to find out where the hell you were." Dean answered. "I jumped out of the car and pretty much tackled one of the security officers and asked where I could find you. Had to show them my license just to prove we were actually related."

He wanted to see me so bad ,Sam thought, digging the urban legend book out of his bag, he wanted to make sure that I was safe. He could've smiled at that thought, but then that little nagging voice at the back of his head said, That's only because he's your brother and nothing more. Sam shook his head. He didn't want to pay that voice any more attention than was possible, but there was a point there. As far as Dean was concerned, they were brothers and that was as far is it would and could only ever go.

Gritting his teeth, Sam handed Dean the book and watched as his older brother thumbed through it. Leaning back in his chair, Sam closed his eyes and tried hard not to think back to the day he'd run away. It had been warm, a bright August day thick with humidity and the threat of oncoming rain. John had gone out to research something or other related to their latest hunt and he and Dean had remained behind.

Sam had suspected there was something up with Dean for a while. He'd seemed more tense than normal and whenever Sam so much as touched him, he would look away, his jaw set grimly. In the stupidity of his youth, Sam had hoped that nothing more would have come of it. But he'd been terribly wrong. The moment he'd mentioned leaving John, Dean had gotten riled up. What started as a simple disagreement about finally flying the nest turned into a full out fight in which Dean had given Sam an earful about what was wrong with the way they'd been for the passed three and a half years. It had blown up when Sam had touched on the subject of John, and the real problem being that Dean was too ashamed to walk away from under his father's thumb. Dean had thrown Sam through the coffee table for that.

"Sam?" Dean's low concerned voice brought Sam back to the present with a jolt.

"Yeah?" he said.

"You okay?" Dean asked, looking at him from under those long eyelashes. Sam shook himself and realized he'd been holding the edge of the table in a white knuckle grip during his whole reminiscence.

He nodded. "I'm fine, Dean." Dean gave him a look that clearly showed he wasn't buying it. Not wanting to disturb the mending peace between them, he sat forward in his chair and gestured to The Encyclopedia of Urban Legends. "What do you think?" Sam asked.

Dean's gaze lingered on Sam for a fraction of a second before he turned back to the book.

"Pretty cut and dry," he said. "The legend matches pretty much perfectly with the murder. Although your creepy professor had a point when he said that the legend usually ends with a less sticky fate for the woman."

"Do you think it's demonic?" Sam asked in a hushed voice so that the people sitting nearby wouldn't hear.

Dean shrugged. "It's hard to say. I mean I wouldn't rule it out at this point, but it's not like it's impossible for a human to do this. Just because urban legends never happened...

"Doesn't mean they never could." Sam finished, sitting back in his chair wearily. "Yeah. My friends and I already made that observation."

Dean arched an eyebrow, an impish grin curling his lips. "You have friends? Like...real friends or the ones in your head?"

"Shut up." Sam said with a tiny grin.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Sam and Dean both grinned broadly at this exchange. God I missed this, Sam thought. Aloud he said, "The odds are pretty slim, you know. The killer would have to have had the upper hand on Michelle in every single aspect. When she would be traveling, where she would be going. And he'd have to know that she wouldn't check the back seat."

"And that she'd stop at a gas station." Dean added.

Sam shook his head. "That could just been an eerie coincidence. The killer could've just lucked out there."

"Which is a narrow chance when you think about it." Dean said. "Which is why it's not impossible for this to have been paranormal in anyway."

"Witchcraft, demons...one of the two." Sam supplied. "Or maybe both. It wouldn't be too hard to invoke something. But that means the killer has a pretty damn good knowledge of the arcane, which would mean he's got some friends in low places."

Dean grinned. "What makes you think the killer's a guy?"

Sam shrugged. "Because that's usually the case in urban legends. It's always a male killer preying on a helpless female victim." Sam looked around the library and saw that most of the other students had their heads together and were talking in low hushed voices. He didn't have to guess what they were whispering about. Even though Michelle hadn't actually been attending Stanford, the manner of her murder was something that most people wouldn't be forgetting anytime soon. He frowned and thought of telling Dean about his vision, but thought better of it. The last thing he needed right now was Dean fussing over him. He needed to tough this out and see if he could stand just being brothers with Dean again. Any kind of emotional contact would just open the floodgates.

"Why don't you phone Dad about it?" Sam suggested casually, trying hard to disguise the venom in his voice. To his surprise, Dean's face hardened and he looked away. "What's wrong?" Sam asked, sitting forward and studying his brother carefully.

Dean ran his hand through his hair and then said bitterly, "I don't know how to get a hold of him."

"What?" Sam asked in surprise.

"He...he's not around Sam. He went off for a hunt months ago with a message telling me not to look for him and...and I haven't heard so much as a whisper from him since." Dean met Sam's gaze levelly, his eyes daring Sam to goad him for being wrong about his precious father's own departure. And, if Sam was being honest, he wanted to gloat at the news. He wanted to shove it in Dean's face that they needn't have worried about leaving John if he was going to up and leave only a few months later. But something in Dean's eyes stopped him. As much as Sam hated the man, he knew John was an important aspect of his older brother's life. Whatever resentment and bitterness Sam felt, he swallowed down.

Putting a tentative hand over Dean's wrist, Sam gave his brother a supportive half-smile. "I'm sorry, Dean," he said quietly.

Dean grinned furtively and placed his big, calloused hand over Sam's. "Thanks Sammy." he said just as softly. Their eyes met again. Sam felt himself getting lost in those mossy green pools and he blinked and forced himself to look away, screaming on the inside that he was strong enough for this and that even if he wasn't he wanted it too badly to give a damn anymore. But he had to look away. He didn't want to put himself or Dean through anymore, especially in light of this revelation about their father's disappearance. Grudgingly, he slid his hand out from under Dean's.

"Have you tried looking for him?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. But the trail's cold. I don't think he wants to be found. So...I gave up and made my way South. We were in Oregon when he left and...well, when he didn't show, I decided to come down here to see you and that's when this happened." He gestured at the book again.

Sam bit his lip, not wanting to voice the obvious. How the hell did Dean know John was just taking a vacation? What if something had happened to him?

He wanted to see me, that voice in his head thought, just me. Not him. He was heading to see me instead of looking. That means he doesn't care anymore about Dad.

"Fuck." Sam hissed angrily, rubbing his forehead.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked. When Sam shook his head, Dean rolled his eyes and said, "Bullshit, Sam. Something's bothering you, so just tell me."

"I already did." Sam said wearily.

Dean looked at him from across the table and then looked around to make sure nobody was listening in. When he was sure they wouldn't be overheard, he leaned closer to Sam and sighed. "Sammy," he began, "you know that I'll always love you. But what we had...it was -

Sam got to his feet, a little more emphatically then he meant too. His chair tipped over and landed on the floor with a loud bang that made several people jump and look around in surprise.

"Don't," he said, snatching the book from under Dean's nose and shoving it back into his bag. "Just don't, okay? I'm grateful that your here, Dean. And I already told you how I feel. So don't sit there and patronize me with stupid clichés." Sam swung his book bag over his shoulder and scribbled a note on an index card lying on the table. He shoved it under Dean's nose. "That's my dorm number. Come and find me when you've made your mind up. And check out the New Age section. That's the only place you can find info on the paranormal here." With that, he spun on his heel and marched out of the library, leaving Dean sitting there, staring down at the index card with a look of mingled confusion, anger and hurt on his handsome face.