Sam was certain he'd never eat herring again. Or codfish. Or maybe food in general.

After a solid fifteen hours of mostly standing at the bait station, the pain between his shoulder blades was beyond a twinge. He ached in places he wasn't even sure could ache. And the only respite he got was when they splashed pots. They'd sunk all 100, and Sam had cut the bait and packed the bait bags for every one of them, handing them off to Rog. That was where his job had ended, initially. Rog crawled inside the mouth of each pot and hooked the bag on, but so far, they hadn't let Sam help steady the pots as they came down off the hydros or do much of anything else. Mike assured him that once they started pulling pots, he'd have plenty to do, but they'd only sunk the last one about 20 minutes ago, and they all needed at least a 7-hour soak.

Sam learned soon enough that there was no such thing as a regular break time aboard a commercial crabbing vessel. Lars had explained that they worked for days sometimes without a break - 36 or even 56 hours, depending how the crab were running. Luckily, JayJay seemed to have intuition about where the crabs were, and they typically scored big their first time out. It was when the pots were hauled in empty or near empty, Lars had explained, that the work got backbreaking. He showed Sam how the pots were chained down and explained that it would eventually be one of his jobs to secure the returning pots as they were pulled in out of the dark sea and unloaded.

Sam couldn't wait. Anything that got him away from endless miles of ground herring and disemboweled codfish would be a relief. Sam thought he'd even be willing to dive into the sea and retrieve the damned pots by hand at this point, if it gave him a chance to stretch his muscles.

A sudden clap on his back startled him. Mike was there, grinning. "Take a break greenhorn." He advised. "You've done a damned good job so far."

Sam noticed all the guys were heading below deck for a short respite before the soak timed out, and it was time to pull the pots back up. He followed willingly, relieved beyond words.

"Rog, you're up." Mike shoulder-bumped him good-naturedly, and the 40-something man groaned. Rog had mostly manned the hydros so far - those were the hydraulics that pulled the 700-lb pots onto the lift. Mike had pointed the job out to Sam, explaining that it was a job for an experienced hand - one wrong move could bring a pot down onto a crewmember, swing it into a crewmember, or just generally wreak havoc. Sam had smiled, nodding. Mike had been great so far about explaining everything that was going on aboard the vessel, and Sam felt like he already had a hang for things.

But damn, it felt good to sit down.

Rog got up and headed into the small galley, and once he heard pots and pans clanging, Sam realized that the older man had been charged with cooking.

Suddenly, food sounded interesting again.

So long as it wasn't herring.

Sam wondered when and if you got a shower aboard the boat, but he didn't want to ask. He didn't want to sound like a sissy. He figured it would be better to watch and wait and see if anyone else headed to the showers. He did go wash his hands up to his elbows though.

One thing that couldn't wait, and Sam asked Lars, "Do cell phones work out here?"

The old-timer grinned, "You got a girl waiting back home, greenhorn?"

Sam smiled and shook his head. "Just family. Wanted to let them know I'm okay."

"Nah, no cell phones out here, son. Sorry."

Sam's heart sank. He couldn't go this whole stretch without word of Dean. He just couldn't.

Mike was watching the exchange and must have seen the panic in Sam's eyes at the answer. He moved on it. "What's up, Sam?"

Sam looked up, startled. "Nothing," he lied, not wanting to seem needy.

Mike studied him. As deck boss, he'd seen greenhorns come and go. Some needed babied. Others felt like they should be given any job they wanted right away.

Sam was neither of these things. The boy kept his mouth shut and his head down and his mind on his work. In the short time he'd known him, Mike liked him immensely. He had a feeling the boy wouldn't have asked if it wasn't important. "Come on. Give. Who you gonna call?" He asked jokingly, sounding like the theme from Ghostbusters.

Sam smiled. "My brother's in the hospital back in Unalaska. I thought maybe … I wanted to know how he's doing. Let him and my uncle know I'm okay."

Mike frowned. "What's wrong with him?"

Sam glanced around nervously, suddenly aware that the room had gone quiet. No one but Mike was looking directly at him, but everyone was interested in hearing what he had to say. He cleared his throat.

"He … uh … We came up to meet my dad for vacation and Dean, uh … he had a seizure. They found out he had a brain tumor. He would have had the surgery yesterday. I just … I wanted to know how he's doing."

Rog poked his head in from the galley, "Damn hell, boy. This is your vacation?" He asked, confused.

Sam chuckled, "Well, it was supposed to be something like that, but the hospital … they wanted money before they'd … you know … operate. So I needed a job …" Sam hoped he didn't sound ungrateful - like he was only there for the money.

But he needn't have worried. Every hand on board was experienced. They'd all worked with greenhorns too, and down to the last man - Sam impressed them. He came aboard with a humble attitude. He didn't try to run things or give ultimatums. He never disappeared off-deck, and he hadn't yet complained. He was a rare breed, especially for a kid who'd never set foot on a crab boat before.

Mike clarified, "So you left before he had the surgery?"

Sam turned pink instantly, misery evident in his eyes. He nodded.

"Why, son?"

"The hospital … the lady in the financial office … she wouldn't schedule Dean's surgery until I could show her proof that I had a job."

"Your dad couldn't help out?"

"He's … uh … I couldn't find him."

Nobody said anything, and the silence grew long and awkward. Sam wished he'd never asked his question. "It's okay." He tried to lighten the mood. "My uncle … he's there with him. He'll be okay, I know. I just …" He trailed off, miserable.

Mike stood up. "Come with me." He said.

Sam looked up, startled. He hoped Mike wasn't taking him to JayJay to complain about the whiny, new greenhorn. He stood and followed the older man slowly.

Mike winked then, "You'll never get him by cell phone, but I can show you how to send and receive email. That's almost as good, right?"

Sam's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Yes sir. Thank you!"

###

Beside Dean's bed, Bobby's cell phone blipped. He scrunched his brows in confusion, not recognizing the sound. He pulled the contraption from his pocket to see that he had an email. Then he remembered - Sam had said something once about pushing posts to Bobby's phone or something like that. He'd set the whole thing up.

The old hunter had never read an email off his phone before, but he shrugged. How hard could it be? He pushed a button:

Hi Bobby,

Can't talk on my phone out here, but can send and receive email. All is well. How is Dean?

Sam

Bobby jerked himself upright. Sam! Son of a bitch. The kid was okay! Bobby wrestled with how to send an email back. But it was no use.

He had no idea.

And he sure wasn't waking Dean to ask.

"Balls!"

"You okay there, Bobby?" The pretty young nurse asked, smiling up from taking Dean's vitals.

Bobby's eyes widened. "Hey, uh, Penny … you know how to send an email from a phone?"

Penny laughed, "Well, yeah. Who doesn't?"

"Me. And I need to send one. It's real important. Think you could show me?"

She smiled and moved to stand beside him. "Sure. Here, look. It's easy." And she walked him through the process, reading over his shoulder as he laboriously typed. She frowned, "That's a Winlink address. Is that why we haven't seen Sam around? He's on a boat?"

Bobby nodded, "He's on a crab boat out in the Bering Sea."

Her eyes widened, "Sam? The teenage boy who came in with Dean? That kid is on a crab boat?"

"Desperate times and all that." Bobby replied, finishing his email and sighing in relief. He hoped Sam got it right away.

Penny frowned. "He took the job to pay for Dean's treatment?"

Bobby nodded.

She looked angry. "What's the name of the boat?"

"Uh, Brown-Eyed Girl, I think."

She suddenly smiled, relaxing. "That's JayJay. He's in good hands."

Bobby looked up, startled, "You know the captain?"

"You could say that." She grinned and held up her left hand, fiddling with her engagement ring.

Bobby's eyes went wide. "Well ain't that something? Small world, hunh?"