Secrets and Lies, Sam Discovers, part 1

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Days passed into nights, nights into days. 'it has been fiftyone damn days since i lost you, dean' Sam's mind calculated the time, each day he lost a bit more of himself. His every waking moment was concentrated on finding his brother. He had scoured the desert for any clues, searching in a ten mile radius of what he thought was the place they had stopped. He drove to every town in a hundred miles asking anyone who would take the time. He had thought of filing a police report but remembered that Dean had been declared dead in St. Louis, MO in conjunction with the killings due to that shapeshifter. He had called thier dad in a vain attempt for help, but like all the other times before, no reply came. Sam felt utterly alone.

Even his dreams were of no help, his freak abilities failing him. Some vague instances of Dean in distress mixed with odd thoughts of weird animalistic hunger. He would catch hints of rough laughter, half heard lustful thoughts, 'my bitch'. These usually came to him when he was in that dozy stage between wakefulness and sleep. He could not grasp any of them, they stayed out of reach, half formed and foggy, nothing for him to fully realize into anything solid. They left him feeling strange and disconnected, invaded. He filed them away as stress, anger, frustration, and grief for his brother. 'i left you and now you are lost, i failed you dean'

On that fiftyfirst day, Sam found himself back in Springfield. 'never did do that job' he thought absurdly to himself as he pulled up to a diner just inside the city limits. He dragged in, road weary and emotionally drained from searching. He ordered two coffees and a ham sandwich, not really wanting to eat but knowing he had to keep up his strength. 'where are you dean? dammit, why don't you call me? if you would just fucking appear in a dream this would be over' anger leeching into his thoughts. He wished he had a good photo to circulate. The only ones he had were on the collection of fake ids in the glove box and none of them clear, just enough out of focus so they would not have to be replaced so often. The ones he had at Stanford burned the night Jess died. It was not like they had any oppertunities to take snaps. He chuckled, wondering what his brother would say if he had tried to take his picture. 'dammit sam, stop that or i will beat your ass.' Tears threatened, forming in his eyes but hesitating to fall.

Drinking the last of his coffee, ignoring his sandwich, idly spinning his brother's ring on the middle finger of his right hand, Sam's eyes roamed around the diner. In the thirtysix days he had been gone, none of the people seemed to have changed, give or take a tourist or two. Absentmindedly, he stuffed the sandwich into his pocket then got up to pay. At the register a smiling young waitress took his money with a wink, handed him his change. 'she's new. what the hell?' A flyer by the register caught Sam's attention, ripping it down, he asked the waitress where it came from and when it was put up, his hands shaking.

"The police brought it in about a month ago, asking us to post it, you know, just in case," she replied, a bit taken aback at her patron's sudden intensity. "Do you know him? He is quite cute," she added with a grin.

"Dean," he barely whispered as he rushed out the door, reading the flyer:

-- DO YOU KNOW THIS MAN? FIRST NAME 'SAM', 25-30 YEARS OF AGE, 6' tall, BROWN HAIR, GREEN EYES, FOUND ON HWY 42 SOUTH OF SPRINGFIELD. IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION PLEASE CONTACT THE SPRINGFIELD POLICE --

Sagging against the car, the date at the bottom of the flyer jumped into his line of site, the flyers had been printed thirtyfour days ago, 'shit, i missed this by TWO FUCKING DAYS!' It was all he could do to keep standing. The tears that threatened trailed down Sam's face at his misfortune, yet hoping beyond hope that he had finally found his older brother. Dean was staring out from the flyer looking confused and frightened, not the cocky, confident brother he knew, but it was his face none the less. 'dammit, it was you that morning, and i left you, how could i be do stupid' he berated himself, guilt exploded, almost overwhelming him, the tears finally falling. Gunning the engine, Sam sped toward the hospital.

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