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Sam wakes up about halfway through The Nightmare Before Christmas to find Dean snoozing next to him. He peers blurrily at the numbers on the VCR. It's only 8:30. He guesses that's a testament to how exhausted they've both been.
He's tempted to just go back to sleep, but he's spent the last few days waiting for Dean to fall asleep before getting up and doing his own thing, so he figures why break the streak now?
He stands up gingerly, pushes Dean gently so he's lying down on the couch, hefts his brother's legs up. Dean snorts, grumbles sleepily and then settles on his stomach, drooling slightly into one of Jess' precious throw pillows.
Sam's considering whether to bring his laptop in here or just go into the bedroom when it occurs to him that he's broken his promise to keep in contact with Bobby. He fishes his cell out of his pocket and, grabbing Dean's phone off the coffee table to check the number, puts in a call.
The phone rings for a few beats before Bobby picks up with a grouchy "Yeah?"
"Hey, Bobby, it's Sam Winchester."
"Sam," Bobby rumbles. "Y'alright, boy?"
"Yeah," Sam says. "Yeah, we're fine. I just wanted to call and check in. Things have been so busy I kind of forgot to keep you updated."
"Mmm. From the way your brother made it sound, it ain't exactly been roses for you the past few days. Not that I'm surprised, considering."
"You talked to Dean?"
"Yeah, a while ago. He didn't tell you?"
"No," Sam says, "but then again, he doesn't tell me much."
He aims a soft kick at the spot on Dean's ankle that he'd nailed earlier. Dean snorts in his sleep and rolls over onto his side, hand sneaking under the pillow to grope for a knife that isn't there.
"'M not surprised. You Winchesters always have been some secretive bastards."
Well, Sam can't really argue with that one. He takes the phone and heads into the kitchen, pawing through the cabinets in search of something he can make for dinner.
"How's yer brother?"
"Better than he was, but he's still pretty beat up," Sam sighs, pushing aside a dented box of Hamburger Helper. "But of course he thinks he's fine."
Bobby grunts.
"And how're you?"
"Me? I'm all right."
"So, you think you're fine," Bobby mimics.
Sam puffs an exasperated breath out of his nose.
"Okay, so I'm not exactly at 100%, either," he admits. "I'm still a lot better off than Dean. If you ask him, though, I lift anything heavier than a set of car keys and I'm gonna split myself wrist to elbow."
"Mmhmm," Bobby says. "I got a theory says that might have something to do with the fact that, a couple of days ago, you actually slit yourself from wrist to elbow."
Sam pinches his lips shut. It's not surprising that Bobby would side with Dean on this. Bobby's always gotten along better with Dean than with Sam, just like John does. Sam tries not to take it personally.
He hears the sound of the refrigerator opening on the other line, then the clinking of bottles, before Bobby sighs.
"You two got somewhere to stay?"
"He's staying with me," Sam says, feeling strangely defensive, "at my apartment in Palo Alto."
If Bobby's surprised at that, he doesn't say anything.
"You heard from your daddy yet?" he asks instead.
"Tch!" Sam scoffs, smacking a can of green beans onto the counter with unnecessary force; he shakes off the pain that jolts through his arm. "He's still keeping himself off the grid. That didn't keep him from finding time to send Dean coordinates for another hunt, though."
Bobby swears.
"Of all the damn fool— Sam, you give me those coordinates, and I'll find somebody in the area who can check it out."
Sam glances through the doorway to where Dean is sleeping on the couch. He wishes…
"Dean's not going to go for that, Bobby. Dad gave him a job, so he's gonna do it. And I think part of him's still convinced Dad's waiting to meet up with him there or that he's left some clue about why he's gone missing."
"But you don't think so."
Sam takes another cautious look into the living room and then cups his hand around the mouth of his phone.
"Don't tell Dean, but I've been doing some research into the area during the last couple days," he tells Bobby. "It's in the middle of the wilderness with a pretty big grizzly population, but I went through local records and made some calls, and it turns out a handful of people get 'attacked by bears' every twenty-three years."
"And this is the twenty-third year."
"Yeah. There's a survivor of an attack in the fifties who may still be alive, so our next step would be to interview the guy, find out exactly what he saw, and hopefully take whatever it is out before it goes back into hiding."
"Our?" Bobby repeats after a moment. "Thought you were in school."
"I am," Sam tells him, "but Dean doesn't need to do this hunt alone."
"And how about the hunt after that?" Bobby asks knowingly. "He gonna be okay to do that one on his own?"
No, Sam thinks instantly. No, of course not. He has to have someone watching his back after what happened; someone has to be there to save him.
"Uh huh," Bobby says, taking Sam's silence as his answer. "And how 'bout the one after that? The next one? And the one after that?"
Sam frowns, brow furrowed.
"What do you want me to say, Bobby?" he asks helplessly. "He's my brother."
Another sigh.
"Don't want you to say nothin'," Bobby says. "Just... You're out, Sam. Most hunters would kill to be where you are. Getting back into the life… You sure that's what you wanna do?"
And there it is. Sam knows how it is with hunters: You're in or you're out. Are you going to be a law student or a hunter? A civilian or a warrior? Are you going to be normal, be safe, or are you going to protect your brother?
What the hell kind of choice is that?
"I know I'm not your daddy—"
"No," Sam cuts him off sharply. "You're not my dad."
There's a long pause, and Sam kicks himself.
"But I understand what you're saying," he adds hastily. "And thanks for looking out for us, Bobby, but I'm not seeing any other option here. I'm not… I'm not dropping out of school. I'm not going back to being a hunter. I'm just helping my brother, and I have to help him, Bobby. I have to."
Bobby coughs.
"Yep," he grumbles. "Stubborn asses, the whole lot of ya. But you do what you think you've gotta, boy. Just be smart about it."
"Yeah, of course."
"Hmph," Bobby intones, probably just suppressing another dig at Sam's proclivity for home surgery. "Call me if you need anything."
"I will," Sam says warmly. "Thanks again for everything, Bobby."
Bobby grunts a goodbye and hangs up with a click.
The worst part of it is that Bobby's right, Sam thinks, tossing the green beans back in the cabinet and slapping the worn, warped door shut with a soft thunk. Most hunters would kill to be in his shoes.
Out. Out of the life, out of the job, out of endless shitty hotel rooms and gross diner foods and never, ever knowing if it's gonna be this monster that gets you or the next…
This is what Sam's wanted ever since he knew he could have it. Ever since he realized that being born into this war didn't mean that he had to fight it.
But now? Now that being out means leaving Dean in, alone? Alone and unguarded, fighting the nightmares of the world with no one at his back? No one to protect his blind side? To take the night watch? To make sure he and that stupid car make it from one case to the next, happy and intact, scarfing burgers and blaring obnoxious music and never, ever leaving Sam wondering if maybe this time, maybe this monster...
Well, picket fences and blissful ignorance just don't have the same shine.
Not anymore. Not now that he knows what it means for Dean.
Sam dials the pizza joint down the road, and tries to decide if he's giving in or growing up.
