A part of him, the most juvenile part, prayed that Dean would follow him and tell him to stop, or even come knocking at the dorm room door. But none of these things happened. Sam did not have to meet Damon until eight that evening. He thought briefly of going to meet Natalie or maybe Brenda, but the two were probably off together doing their own thing. Sasha had Parker and the radio show to deal with at night and Paul didn't come in at all. Sam guessed he was probably covering the murder like stink on a warthog. Having nothing better to do and not wanting to sit with his thoughts, he decided to study like crazy for his other subjects. He knew it was stupid to be mad at Dean for a simple statement of what was probably brotherly love. But in Sam's mind, they could never go back to being just brothers. They'd had something real and Dean had thrown it away. And if he gave the feelings he still harbored even the slightest inch then there would be no turning back from the detente in their relationship. Besides, there was still Damon to contend with.

After hours of reading and note taking in his dorm room, Sam glanced over at the clock and saw that it was seven thirty. Sighing, he closed his books and took a quick shower, wondering what this meeting with Damon would bring.

The fraternity house was on the outer edge of the campus, just passed Stanley Hall. The sun had not yet gone down when Sam started out, reveling in the muffled noises of the late evening on the campus quad. The day's events had put him on edge and the last thing he needed was a confrontation with Dean again. From a distance, he spied the Impala on the front parking lot, but thankfully there was no sign of its owner.

The fraternity house was, like all frat houses, enormous, almost a manor house. It stood atop a small grassy knoll with a dusty drive way where all the expensive looking sports cars were parked. Behind the big yard with the pool there was a huge expanse of trees that lead to the surrounding forest where the frat boys usually held their bonfires and hazings.

Sam hated the fraternity. Mostly because of Parker being a righteous ass and one of the most influential brothers, but also because of what it had done to Damon. Sam still felt a small twinge of pain in his chest when he remembered that hellish week when Damon had done a complete one eighty for the worst. But if he really wanted to patch things up...maybe it would help Sam forget about Dean the way it had done when Sam had first come to Stanford.

As he approached the house as twilight settled in, he heard a chopping noise from around the side. Cocking his head, Sam cautiously approached the side of the house, trying to keep out of sight in case it was Parker. But it wasn't. It was Damon, swinging down on blocks of wood for the fireplace with a double bladed axe. His shirt was off, and the exterior lights of the house were casting Damon in an amber glow that only served to highlight his knotted muscles. Although not ripped like some of the other fraternity brothers, Damon's muscles were defined through hard natural labor rather than weight lifting, the same way Dean's were. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat and his gelled blonde hair shone brightly under the lights. For several moments, Sam simply stood there and watched him chop through the wood, the blade of the axe tearing through the logs without any trouble at all.

Like a blade through bone, Sam thought. He blinked, confused. What the hell had made him think that? Shaking his head, he strode forward and coughed quietly. Damon looked up mid-swing and grinned, dropping the axe and walking with a swagger over to Sam. Before Sam could so much as take a breath, Damon pulled him to his chest and crushed their lips together. Sam's eyes widened in surprise and he thought of pushing Damon away but before he could act on this notion, Damon's tongue touched his and Sam felt all the resistance drain out of him.

God damn it, he thought, I need to stop letting my guard down so much. He sank further into Damon's embrace, feeling the shorter boy's sweat against his own shirt. Sam moaned, still kissing Damon passionately. He didn't care anymore. Anything to help him try and forget about Dean. After several long moments of their tongues dancing together, Damon broke the kiss and grinned at Sam who was breathing heavily.

"Hey." Damon said.

Still breathless, Sam merely nodded. Damon let out a whoop of laughter and then ran a hand over his damp hair.

"Sorry," he said, "I got carried away."

"Tell me about it." Sam murmured. Damon chuckled again.

"I'm going to hit the shower quickly and then we'll go." Damon said, turning and heading towards the back door of the house.

"Go?" Sam said bemused, "go where?"

Damon merely grinned in response and then headed inside. Shaking his head, Sam sat down on the stump used to chop the logs and looked around at the wood. His eye caught the double bladed axe which Damon had left outside. For some reason, it held his gaze and he felt that there was something significant about it, like he'd seen it before. Frowning, Sam leaned forward and looked closely at the blades, trying to figure out what it was about the axe that was so important.

Then he remembered the vision he'd had last night. The crouching figure in the back of Michelle's car, the parka pulled so high that their face couldn't be seen and the flash of steel as the killer severed Michelle's head with the blade of lethal double bladed axe.

Sam gasped audibly and got to his feet, staring at the thing in cold dread. No...this wasn't possible.

It really wasn't, Sam realized with a near laugh. Paul had told him that morning that he'd seen Damon near Stanley Hall last night. There was no way he could be the killer. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Sam turned and found himself face to face with Damon. He gasped in surprise and staggered backwards, only avoiding falling over the log thanks to a strong arm from Damon, who was looking at him like he'd just grown another head.

"Jumpy much?" Damon said, helping Sam get his footing again. He'd changed into a white t-shirt with an orange vest and hadn't bothered gelling his hair after showering.

"Sorry," Sam said. "I guess I just...you startled me and...uh..the axe and...what's so funny?" Damon was chuckling, his eyes regarding Sam warmly.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "It's just cute the way you trip over yourself."

Sam rolled his eyes but allowed a smile to pass his lips. Damon seemed to really be acting like his old self again.

"C'mon," Damon said, turning and heading for the front of the house, "we're taking the car."

"You still haven't told me where we're going." Sam reminded him as they rounded the house and headed for the driveway where Damon's jeep was parked.

"We're going to go cruise for hot babes." Damon said, a twinkle in his eye.

"Do you even like girls Damon?" Sam asked him.

"Do you?" Damon shot back, giving Sam a sideways glance. Sam said nothing, but looked down at his feet as they reached the jeep. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Damon gazing at him apologetically. "Hey...I didn't mean it like that Sammy."

Sam shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I kinda deserved it."

Damon grinned and then motioned for Sam to get into the passenger seat. Sam did so, going around the jeep and buckling up his seat belt in silence. He knew very well that neither he nor Damon were interested in women in a romantic way. Not for the first time Sam wondered why he and Natalie were even considering themselves a couple.

"You better not be taking me to Make Out Point." Sam said with a teasing grin as they pulled out of the driveway.

"Make Out Point, Lover's Lane, Contraception Overlook...it's all the same." Damon answered.

"So you are taking me there." Sam said with a dramatic sigh. He was surprised that he didn't mind. "But mother said that nice girls who go to Make Out Point always meet a nasty end."

Damon chuckled. "It's not really Make Out Point when it comes to us, Sam. It's more like Anal Sex Cliff."

"Damon!" Sam yelped in disbelief. But he smiled. This was the old Damon back, the one who could crack a joke and still care about you. Not the egotistical frat boy who had to have everything his way, although Sam's mind was racing with questions about why exactly Damon's personality had changed overnight.

They rode in silence for the rest of the ride. Taking the right turn out of the campus led to the highway that bordered the woods. Sam knew where Damon was taking him; the clearing in the woods behind the frat house. If someone were to try and make it there from the campus it would take them the better part of an hour to find it. It was far enough in that it couldn't be seen from the fraternity house. This was why the brothers used it as the hazing site. The trek there would be a tough one for a blindfolded pledge. That and it would be a bitch for campus security to find and put a stop to any kind of illegal activities associated with twenty first century hazing.

There was a small path from the highway that led into the woods. Sam didn't know how it had gotten there, but guessed that not all of the school faculty was in the dark about the clearing. The path was too perfect to have been made by a bunch of frat boys. In any event, it took Damon only twenty minutes to get from the frat pad to the clearing. By that time the sun had completely set and he had to use his headlights to navigate through the trees. In the dimness, the trees with their budding leaves looked skeletal. It made Sam shiver.

The clearing itself was about the size of a swimming pool and set under a huge old oak tree with a large, sturdy branch that jutted out over the dust below. There were small potholes here and there from where fires had been lit and Sam wasn't surprised to see the odd beer can or condom littering the ground. Damon parked right under the branch and cut the engine. He undid his seat belt and Sam did too, thinking they were going to get out of the jeep, but when Damon's door did not open, Sam stopped and turned to look at the other boy, suddenly wary of being out so far from other people.

Damon took a deep breath and then ran his hand over his face.

"This probably doesn't mean shit to you right now," he began, "but I'm sorry."

How many times am I going to hear that today? Sam thought.

"I know I've been a real dick since I joined the fraternity," Damon went on, "but I meant what I said earlier today. I miss you Sam. I miss what we had."

Sam looked at Damon long and hard. He'd been expecting something like this and as much as he wanted to believe Damon, he had to make sure that this was real and not just an attempt to get into his pants.

"You better mean that," Sam said.

"I do, Sam." Damon assured him.

"Really?" Sam said sarcastically. "You mean that getting drunk every weekend and having toga parties with Parker isn't important to you anymore? Or is this just an excuse to get your hand down my jeans?"

Damon looked at him, clearly stung by this. "I mean it Sam. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately and I just really miss you."

"Me or the sex?" Sam asked.

Damon took a deep steadying breath. "Both." he said, his eyes meeting Sam's.

"And what brought this on?" Sam asked him, tearing his eyes away from Damon's when he felt his guard coming down again. He really needed to stop looking into people's eyes. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but the last time we spoke longer than five minutes you said that loyalty to the brothers was the most important thing to you."

Damon had the grace to look ashamed of himself. He stared out the windshield into the dark woods, resting his chin on his hand. For a long moment, he simply stared into the forest, his eyes distant.

"I don't think the answer's in the trees, Damon," Sam said.

Damon sighed deeply. "I guess I should've expected this," he said softly. "What I did to you...it was cruel."

"You're telling me."

"I was a dumbass Sam," Damon continued as though he hadn't heard. "You know the shit that the frat pulls on pledges. They fucking brainwashed me into thinking that they were hot shit. But I've gotten real tired of them lately. Especially Parker. I'd say I don't know what the fuck gets into someone's head when they join a fraternity, but that would be a lie. I've been there. And for a long time I thought that the way they lived was what I wanted. But it's not. Beer bongs and toga parties and all that bullshit. It's not for me." A pained look passed over his boyish face and his voice shook slightly as he went on, "They tried setting me up with some sorority sister at one of those stupid parties."

"What?" Sam said, completely stunned.

Damon nodded. "Yeah. They were egging her on to suck me off in front of everyone and I...well, let's just say my package was useless when called upon. And most of the guys were real cool about it. Except Parker. He keeps making these little jibes about me being...about how I like...well...you get it."

Sam clenched his jaw angrily. Of course he got it. Given the type of person Parker was, it wasn't surprising to hear that he'd added royal homophobe to his list of blistering personality traits. That must be why he loved heckling Sam so much. He probably saw right through the facade that was Sam and Natalie's relationship.

"How long ago did that happen?" Sam asked quietly.

"January," Damon replied, still looking out the front of the car.

Anger filled the pit of Sam's stomach. He and Damon had broken it off in early November, just after Damon had been made a full brother. It was April now. Damon had been living with this for months and Sam hadn't known.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sam asked softly.

Damon shrugged. "You know me, Sam."

Yeah, Sam did know him. Damon was the Tom Fool of Stanford. He didn't like sharing his emotions unless he absolutely had too. Emotions were serious and Damon preferred to dance through life with a smile on his face and a spring in his step. Something like this...he probably tried to shake it off as often as he could. Then again, maybe Parker's snide remarks had caused something else to happen in Damon. In the face of adversity people had a tendency to deny the things about themselves they hated. Did that mean Damon hated the fact that he liked Sam?

"It doesn't matter, you know," Sam said quietly. Damon finally turned to look at Sam, his eyes bright even in the darkness. "You...you like me...and that's great, Damon. It really is. And so what if Parker's being a prick about it? Who gives a fuck? There's no need to label what you feel if it destroys something that you can't live without...I should know." Sam thought of Dean and what they'd been through. He shook his head. This wasn't about Dean. This was about Damon, who was now smiling softly at Sam.

"Then...can we...try again?" Damon asked quietly, not meeting Sam's gaze.

Sam smiled softly at the blonde.

"Yeah," he said, "I'd like that. Just...don't make me regret okay? If you do I'll chop your balls off and hang them from the flagpole."

Damon laughed. "Kinky." he said smiling. Sam chuckled. This was really happening. He could forget about Dean now, although a small part was still holding onto him.

What is wrong with me? Sam thought, I've got to be the most indecisive person in the country.

Damon grinned at him and closed the distance between them in the confined space of the front of the jeep. He captured Sam's lips in a soft kiss that caused Sam's eyes to flutter. Damon gently pushed him back in his seat so that he was leaning against the door with the shorter boy over him. They kissed long and deep, their lips seeming to be pulled together magnetically.

"I wanted you back for so long," Damon whispered when their lips finally parted. "Not just for this...but...as a friend. I'd have settled for that too."

Sam smiled up at him. "There's no way we could've been friends Damon. You're too handsome."

"Damn straight," Damon said with a grin. He reached behind him and fiddled with the radio.

" ...once again, police have Michael McDonnell in custody after a long investigation into the tragic murder of Michelle Mancini which took place..." Damon hastily switched stations, rolling his eyes at the report.

"...so let me get this straight", it was Sasha's voice now. Damon had switched to the campus radio station. "You had yourself a little frat boy shake and now you think you need your stomach pumped?" Another voice replaced Sasha's, a girl's voice. She sounded ill. "Yes, Sasha. It's so gross. I think I feel them swimming around in my stomach..."

"Oh ew," Sam said, making a face. "How the hell can she stand getting calls from idiots like that?"

Damon shrugged, shutting the radio off and then kissing Sam's forehead softly.

"She's interesting that way," he said. Then he grinned impishly and leaned closer to Sam, putting his lips against his ear and whispering, "Do you want a frat boy shake right now Sammy?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Now, now. I told you. I'm a respectable boy. I'm not just going to give it all away."

Damon began kissing Sam's neck, unzipping his jacket as he did so and rubbing his hands over Sam's chest. "Don't be a tease," Damon said with a fake whine.

Laughing, Sam leaned his head back and closed his eyes, reveling in Damon's kisses. This was so surreal. This whole day had been surreal. From the vision to Dean arriving to right now. It was like some kind of weird dream that he was only half looking forward to waking from. As Damon lifted the hem of Sam's shirt up and placed kisses on his bare chest, Sam felt himself losing all common sense. Dean being at Stanford now meant nothing. Michelle Mancini's eerie murder wasn't important anymore. They'd caught the killer. It would be fine. Damon's hand slid into the front of Sam's jeans and he arched into the other boy's touch. Everything would be fine...

He could forget about urban legends and Dean...Dean...urban legends...

Dean! Sam's mind screamed.

Sam's eyes snapped open, all languidness gone. His mind seemed to be running to catch up with his senses. He was making out with Damon in a secluded spot where people normally went to neck.

Lover's Lane...

"Damon..." Sam said, trying to ignore how good it felt to have Damon touching him like this.

"Please, Sammy..." Damon whispered, his hand cupping Sam through his boxers. Sam groaned, his body wanting this, craving it with a burning need. But his mind was singing a different tune. Even if the cops said they'd hauled in Michelle's killer, the circumstances of where they were right now were just too close to urban legend territory.

Think! Sam thought as Damon unbuckled Sam's belt while still kissing him everywhere he could get his lips. Lover's Lane...oh God that feels so...no...Lover's Lane...radio report...killer...there's something that happens now...fuck I can't help it...he's got me hooked completely...hooked...hook! Sam strained his ears to hear any sort of scratching noise against the side of the car door, but he couldn't hear anything except the sounds of his and Damon's heavy breathing. The windows of the jeep were fogging up fast and he doubted he'd be able to see anything that could potentially be watching them.

Damon's fingers were inching their way towards the waistband of Sam's boxers and he knew that once that line was crossed he'd forget about anything else. Sam's mind seemed to be in a million different places. Here in the car, out there where something could be waiting to make him and Damon urban legends and, he hated to admit it, back at the campus where he was sure Dean was most likely sleeping in the Impala.

Damon stopped, his breath hitching in his throat. He looked down, averting his eyes from Sam's gaze.

"Is something wrong?" Sam asked.

Damon took a steadying breath.

"This is so not fair." he said angrily.

"What?"

"I...I have to piss," he said sheepishly. Sam could've laughed.

"That's fine. Just go find a tree and I'll wait."

"But it'll kill the mood," Damon said looking frustrated.

"Damon, its fine. Just step out quickly and then come back."

"Are you sure it's okay?" Damon asked, looking at Sam searchingly. Why the hell was he taking this so hard?

"Damon, go. It's better than you going in here." Damon chuckled and then placed one last kiss on Sam's nose before he scrambled out of the jeep and into the night. Sam sat up straighter and watched him walk off, feeling stupid for worrying again. They'd caught the killer. It had said so on the radio. He and Damon were fine. Better than fine as soon as Damon finished up and got his sweet ass back in the car.

Sitting up straight, Sam turned on the radio and made a face when he heard the theme from Dawson's Creek playing. God he hated that show and anyone stupid enough to be on it. He sat there in silence, waiting for Damon. He waited...and waited...what the hell was taking Damon so long? Even if he'd had a gallon of water before going out there was no way it would take him this long to relieve himself.

Sam peered into the darkness, annoyed. Nearly fifteen minutes had gone by since Damon had left the car.

"Damon," he said loudly, "if you're not back here in another minute I swear to God I'm leaving you out here and taking your jeep."

Still nothing.

"You better not be pulling something," Sam said, his mind reeling at the thought that this had all just been a practical joke at his expense. What if the fraternity was hiding in the bushes with a camera or something? Frowning at this thought, Sam opened the door of the jeep and stepped out into the night air. It was colder out here then he expected. The sharp, spring air hit his skin, making him shiver and he realized that he hadn't bothered to zip up his jacket or buckle his belt. After correcting this glaring mistake, Sam peered around into the trees and felt a new kind of cold wash over him.

Dread.

"Damon!" he yelled, his voice echoing in the woods, adding to the sense of isolation.

I'm getting out of here, Sam thought, I need to get help.

He half-jogged around the jeep, intending to dive into the driver's seat. When he rounded the corner of the car he stopped dead.

Someone was watching him, not even ten feet in front of the car. He could just make out the bulky form in the dimness. Sam's heart skipped a beat. He stood there, not daring to look away from the figure, which did not move but continued to watch him. Feeling the hair's on the back of his neck rising, Sam inched slowly towards the driver's side door, still staring at the dark shape. He pulled the door open and slid into the seat. Damon hadn't taken the keys with him, thank God. Sam turned the keys in the ignition. The car revved...but did not start.

"No," Sam moaned, trying to start the car again. The engine did not turn over. He looked up out the windshield and saw to his horror that his observer was moving forward slowly, directly in the path of the jeep. "Fuck!" Sam cried angrily, giving the key a vicious turn. To his immense relief, the motor sprang to life and at the same time the headlights came on. He looked up and felt himself go cold. The figure was less than two feet away from the front of the car, wearing a dark green parka with the hood pulled up so far that their face was completely obscured. In a gloved hand, the killer held a lethal double bladed axe.

Sam was about to step on the gas pedal when he heard a noise on the roof of the car. It sounded like a thump. This was not happening. He looked back out the windshield and saw that the killer was no longer in front of the car. Instinctively, Sam looked to his left and then out the passenger window. Nothing. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Thump.

Sam jumped, his eyes snapping up to the roof of the car where the noise had again come from. He was breathing heavily now, his eyes wide with fear. There was something on the roof. Was the killer up there? There was another thump...and then another...and another...they were coming in quicker succession. Cold dread took over Sam, who stepped on the gas, trying his hardest to ignore both the thumping and the shaking of his own hands on the steering wheel.

"Come on you piece of shit!" he roared at the vehicle, which lurched forward with an agonizing groan. Sam felt something give way on the back of the car but paid no heed to it. All that he cared about was that the car was actually moving. He was going to make it!

The car lurched to a stop with a squeal of rubber against dirt. Sam was shaken in his seat. What the fuck had happened? Was there something stuck to the end of the car? He was about to turn to check the back window when he saw the killer step out from behind the tree in front of him, axe in hand. With a terrified yell, Sam put the car in reverse, the back bumper slamming into the front of the big oak tree.

Something fell out of the sky and landed on the windshield with a heart stopping crash. Sam actually screamed and let go of the steering wheel as broken glass and something red littered the front of the car.

No... he thought, feeling tears gathering behind his eyes. He recognized the body. It was Damon. And there was a thick noose around his neck leading up to the branch above the car. Sam let out a choked sob and tumbled out of the front seat, stumbling blindly to the body. He could dimly see the length of rope leading up to the branch and then down behind it to where it had been tied to the back of the car.

Sobbing, Sam made to pull Damon's body to him when the he was pulled violently backward and thrown into the dirt. He turned and through his blurred vision saw the bulky frame of the killer bearing down on him. His hunting instincts suddenly kicking in, Sam kicked the figure in the knee. The killer went down, grabbing his knee in pain. Sam scrambled to his feet, casting one last glance back at the pitiful form of Damon on the hood of his jeep and took off running and yelling out for help.

He ran for what felt like hours through the darkness, not daring to look back and trying hard not to think about what had happened back in the clearing. Damon couldn't be dead, not after all they'd worked through. When he did stop to catch his breath he only felt blind panic and sorrow overtake him. He couldn't stop. He just ran through the night, crying like a baby and screaming for help until his throat ached.

The trees were thinning. He was near the campus now. Somebody had to hear him, somebody had to come and help him.

Sam stumbled passed a tree with a thick trunk and looked over his shoulder, tears still falling down his face. No, he couldn't face it. This was a nightmare. He was just having another vision. He must have passed out in the jeep. He was still there now and when he woke up he would have time to save Damon. It was different from Michelle's death because it had to be because it was someone so damn important to him.

Hysteria was setting in. He needed to find help. He turned back and collided with someone wearing a thick coat.

It was the killer! He was going to die, just like Michelle and poor Damon! Sam pounded his fists into the person's chest, clawing at them and yelling like a cornered animal.

"I'll kill you!" he screamed, "I'll fucking kill you!"

The person took him by the shoulders and shook him violently.

"Get a hold of yourself Sasquatch!" the voice said.

Sam took a deep, agonized breath. That name...only one person would use that. Through his hysteria Sam saw that it wasn't the killer...it was Dean, looking at Sam with shock and concern. Sam stared at him, his breath coming in short shallow gasps. He closed his eyes and tried getting a hold on himself. But all he saw was Damon on the hood of the jeep. His eyes opened, staring imploringly at Dean, wanting him to make it better. But he couldn't. Damon was dead.

Sam let out a wail of misery and fell forward, Dean catching him in his strong arms and holding him as he shook with renewed sobs, crying into his older brother's shoulder like a child. And Dean, for all his shock and confusion, held Sam to him like a baby and whispered to him softly. And somewhere in the tangled storm of emotions that were playing through Sam's mind, he felt safe. His sobs eased. It would be okay.

Dean was there. It was always okay when Dean was there.