A/N: A couple years later.

Chapter 2

Dean closed the door of his Chevy Impala as he slung the black garbage bag over his shoulder. His eyes scanned Stanford University's campus, absorbing the unfamiliar atmosphere with college students moving about the quad. He fished into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled note. Scribbled quickly in Sam's handwriting was the name and address of Sam's dorm. Sam had slipped it to him right before walking out the door with their father still raving and cursing.

Branner.

After gaining assistance from several students (all attractive librarian-type females), Dean found his way to a tan-colored stone building. He rushed inside just as several students were exiting and climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. Almost too soon, he found himself waiting outside Sam's dorm room.

Clearing his throat, he rehearsed, "Hey, Sam. I just came by to…"

Dean was cut off as an attractive blond opened the door, calling over her shoulder, "See you later, honey."

She almost bumped into Dean, who quickly jumped back.

"Hi," she said, curious. "Are you looking for someone?"

Dean would have normally flirted and made some suave comment but at the moment his mind was preoccupied.

"Uhh…. Do you know where I could find a Sam Winchester?"

"Yeah, he's right in there. Do you want me to get him?"

"No, that's okay," Dean said quickly, but the girl had already called out over him, "Hey Sam, there's someone here to see you."

She then turned to Dean and smiled. "Well, I've got to get to class now. I hope you're all set."

"Yes, thank you."

His eyes followed her down the stairs until a movement at the door redirected his attention.

"Dean?"

And there was Sam, just as Dean remembered. He was still his tall and lanky self, with a tense look and baggy clothes. But now his hair had grown out longer, breaking away from the short militaristic style hair-cut their father required, and though he still looked stressed, there was a look of liveliness in his eyes that Dean had not seen since their early childhood.

Dean roughly cleared his throat. "How's it been going?"

"Good, very good. Wow, man. I haven't seen you for months. Why didn't you call or something?"

"You could have called too."

"I would've, but I didn't want to risk dad picking up."

"Yeah, whatever," Dean said brusquely. "Listen, I just came by to drop off some of your stuff. I know you didn't have that much time to pack, and I thought you might want some of this sentimental crap…so here."

Dean shoved the garbage bag towards Sam's chest, and Sam awkwardly cradled it.

"Thanks," he said, eyeing it. "What's in here exactly?"

"Oh you know, some of your books and a couple of photos…Wuzzy."

Sam smirked as he thought about his make-shift stuffed animal, which was really just an old hand towel. Their father had prohibited his sons from ever having stuffed animals, thinking that they were too babyish and sissy. So Dean had taken a towel from one of their many motels and tied it into a knot for Sam to cuddle at night. They had named it Wuzzy, for the W emblem at the corner and for its fuzzy texture. Sam had kept it in his coat pocket on hunts, and had held onto it whenever he was scared. Over the years, Wuzzy had become torn and dirty.

"Thanks, Dean."

Dean smiled briefly.

"Well, I better get going. Dad thinks I am checking out a local legend over in Washington."

"All right. I understand. But I wish you could stay a little longer. I could show you around the campus. Maybe we could grab a couple of beers."

"Excuse me, young man, but I believe you are still underage." The brothers both smiled at this. Dean had slipped Sam his first beer from their dad's massive stack in the fridge when Dean had been 13 and Sam 9. Even though Sam had only taken a sip, it was enough to make him loopy for the rest of the day, causing their dad to erupt. Fortunately, he didn't suspect that beer was the reason behind it; otherwise, the boys would have really been dead.

"I really should go. You probably have exams to study for and essays to write anyway."

"Yeah, because I'd rather be reviewing the Supreme Court's briefing in Roe vs. Wade than hanging out with my older brother who I haven't seen in 6 months."

There was an awkward pause as Dean grappled for words.

"I've…missed you—your goofy looking face. I've got nothing to laugh at anymore."

"You could try looking in the mirror."

Dean punched his brother in the arm. "See you around. Okay, Sammy?"

"Yeah, I hope so, Deano."