Midterms hit almost immediately after Sam found the article about the Kansas house fire, effectively putting his search on hold. Instead of being frustrated, Sam realized he was relieved more than anything. He was afraid of what else he would find out.

Rebecca apologized profusely the next time she saw him, and Sam figured he should forgive her. It was one of the disadvantages of living with someone who also happened to be one of your only two friends. He couldn't afford not to forgive her.

And after he decided that, he realized he truly had forgiven her. Even though he had felt betrayed, the reasoning behind it was harmless, aclass project, and Rebecca's intentions were good. At least by providing Jim with material, his dreams would be put to some use.

That matter was quickly forgotten. So once he put that along with his family search out of his mind, he had nothing to distract him from his studies.

Yet, after each class when he should have been immediately focusing on everything he learned, he found himself glancing at the park benches he passed on his way home.

Despite everything else, he couldn't help noticing the pattern of his life. Just like last time, he studied for his midterms, flew through the tests, and then celebrated afterwards with Rebecca and her friends at the bar.

He wondered what would happen once he graduated.

This time only differed from the last midterm celebration in the way they departed. Instead of leaving as a group, Oliver bade goodbye first, and then Matilda and a girl named Sadie. When Rebecca excused herself to the restroom, Sam found himself alone with Jim.

Sam finished off his beer before he forced up enough courage to speak to him. "Hey, Jim," he started, resting his forearms on the table. "Did you, uh..." He coughed and started again. "Becky mentioned that she's been telling you about my dreams. Did you ever-"

Jim cut him off. "What's that? She's never mentioned your dreams to me."

"Oh." Sam blinked, immediately feeling blood rush to his cheeks. If he hadn't been embarrassed enough before, he was now. "Huh."

"Are you sure she said it was me?" Jim went on.

"Um, no," Sam replied shortly, wanting to drop it as quickly as he could. "Sorry."

Jim leaned forward. "Did you want to talk to me about your dreams?" he asked gently.

"Oh, no," Sam quickly said. God, no. "Must have been a misunderstanding." He sat back and took a long sip from his empty beer bottle, his mind racing.

ooOOoo

Sam wanted to confront Rebecca, but he never did. The embarrassment was still too fresh. They were just dreams—he knew that—but the dreams had haunted him so much that he didn't even want to acknowledge them again. He didn't want to place any importance on them, lest he actually started to believe they were.

Fortunately, he could force that mystery into the backseat and focus on another pressing concern – his family.

Again.

After the midterms, he found himself with extra free time again, and after the two week break since he found out about his mother, his mood had changed drastically. Now he was impatient to find more about his family, and he itched to try his new leads.

He had names now, three of them – although he already knew where his mother ended up. The names echoed in his head and he ran his mind over them, even whispering them out loud when he was alone, just to hear how they sounded. John, Mary, Dean.

He needed to find them. He needed to know where he came from.

The fear was still there. He started to think, almost seriously, that his family may be cursed. Both his mother and his girlfriend had died young, tragically, and he was afraid the rest of his missing family met similar fates. But even if his father and brother were also now gone, he'd rather know that than wonder for the rest of his life.

If his father was alive, he'd be in his fifties now. His brother would be 27, maybe 28. Sam wondered what they were like, if they were like him in any way. He wondered if his brother was as tall as he was, or what kind of job his father had. He wondered if he would ever know.

Spring break gave him a week-long chance to search almost full-time. When he wasn't working at the supermarket, he was seated in front of a computer for as long as the library was open.

Unfortunately, he hit a brick wall right away. After the house fire, he couldn't find anything in the Kansas papers about the Winchesters, nor were they in the local phone books. He then did a nationwide search for John, Dean, Sam, and Winchester, but nothing came from that, either.

So he had to search individually, just as he had done with his own name.

He started with his brother, simply because his name was slightly less common than John. The results still numbered in the thousands though, and Sam knew he had another long search ahead of him.

ooOOoo

It occurred to him midway through spring break that he spent his time almost exclusively indoors, and the lack of sun and fresh air finally got to him. He gathered his things from the library – namely, a notebook and pen, to record any clues he found – and decided to walk downtown to a small cafe for lunch.

The walk was a little longer than his typical daily routes, but he felt good about that. The weather was mild and the sun was out, giving him the perfect opportunity to enjoy the outdoors. He took his time, taking detours through the various parks and campus greens. The sidewalks were mostly quiet and bare. Most students had left to celebrate spring break somewhere else, and Sam only encountered a handful of people along his way.

The cafe was also almost empty, for which Sam was grateful. He ordered a soup and sandwich, a bit of a splurge for him on his grocery store wages, but he felt the day called for a bit of indulgence.

Yeah, whatever, Samantha. He smirked to himself, taking comfort in his extra-large Coke.

After his finished his lunch, Sam wasn't quite ready to head back to the library. The strain from staring at the computer screen hadn't faded from his eyes yet. So instead, he decided to stroll around downtown, past the row of shops and cafes and unopened bars.

He hadn't planned on going into any of them, but when he passed an occult shop, his feet paused without him telling them to. It was a dark and frilly place called Dragon's Mist, a name written in gold Celtic lettering. Sam looked through the store's window, and his mind said there was no reason for him to go inside. Yet in the next instant he heard bells jangle as he pulled open the door and stepped inside.

Immediately, thick scents assaulted his nose, and his mind set about identifying and cataloguing each smell. Lavender, sandalwood, frankincense, dragon's blood, he recognized each one. He realized distantly that he probably shouldn't have.

He wandered the store, fingering the various supplies. He ignored the figurines of dragons and fairies, and he skipped the stand carrying homemade lotions and bathing products. Instead, he ran down the labels on the cabinets holding herbs, and he picked up candles designed for rituals and protection, and he studied the various weapons, mostly swords and knives, hanging along the walls.

He was thumbing through a dictionary of supernatural creatures and occurrences when the shopkeeper, a thin, older woman whose hair was larger than body, approached him. "Is there anything I can help you with?" she asked, and her voice - though courteous - held a hint of suspicion.

Sam closed the book and looked at her. An immediate change came over the woman and her demeanor lost the hesitant politeness. Her eyebrows shut up into her forehead and she held up a hand. "Whoa," she stammered.

Sam frowned. "Pardon me?"

"Wow..." she whispered, shaking her head. "Something...is wrong."

"No, actually, I'm fine," he replied, somewhat irritably. "Thank you, though."

"No, no...I feel there's a part of your mind that's off-balanced."

Sam had to hold back a sigh. Maybe it had been a mistake to come in here. "Yeah, I guess," he replied with an exasperated shrug. "Stress and all that." School. Mental breakdown. Lost memories.

"Hm, yes, I suppose you could say that," she replied, sounding distracted as she studied him. Her shoulders suddenly twitched. "You have some ability, don't you?"

"Ability," he echoed dully.

"Yes!" she said with more confidence, taking a step closer. "You have some powerful psychic ability, I can feel it."

"Do I?" Sam glanced around the store, wondering which of the merchandise she would try to sell to him.

"You do. You really do. You..." She leveled her gaze at him. "You could do a lot of good with it."

Sam remained silent for a moment. "Look, I think I'm all set," he told her, picking up one of the protection candles he had looked at. "I'll just get this for now. All right?" He hadn't meant to purchase it, but he would if it helped him get out of the store.

She nodded mutely and led him back to the counter where the register sat. As she typed in the price, she looked at him again. "You'll be back, won't you? I'd really hate for your power to go to waste."

"Yeah, sure," Sam replied.

"No, I'm serious," she insisted. "You really have something, and you need to harness it, put it to good use." She wrapped the candle in brown paper and set it inside a bag. "Please, promise me you'll at least think about it. Seriously think about it." She stared at him as she handed him the bag. Sam agreed, eager to escape her gaze.

He didn't pay her words any heed while she was spouting them, but when he stepped back out into the sunshine, he was overcome with dizziness.

In the four years he spent at Stanford, he had never once stepped inside Dragon's Mist.

But now that he looked back, he wondered if he had been actively avoiding it.

ooOOoo

Thoughts of blades and magical herbs were quickly forgotten, replaced with more practical matters when spring break ended and classes started up again. It marked the beginning of the last half of his final semester as an undergraduate.

Sam tried not to think about that.

His fellow seniors seemed to buzz around him, exuding energy and excitement that Sam didn't feel. Rebecca somehow sensed that, and she kept any impatience she felt towards graduation to herself, wordlessly offering Sam support.

Zach, on the other hand, didn't keep quiet. Instead, he took him out for drinks again, bought several rounds of shots, and commiserated with him. After all, Zach still hadn't looked for a better, higher-paying, permanent job. He understood Sam's reluctance.

He had another strange dream at the end of the week, though it wasn't a nightmare. All that he recalled was Zach telling him he didn't want Sam to waste his life. Or lose it. Sam couldn't really remember which. Sam told him to stop being such a pain in the ass.

Rebecca wasn't up yet when he stumbled into the kitchen. That didn't matter though, because he didn't plan on telling her any more of his dreams. He may have forgiven her, but he hadn't forgotten the feeling of betrayal. More importantly, he didn't like exposing himself like that, especially for no good reason.

Even as he was thinking that, he caught sight of her purse sitting on the counter.

Sam froze, suddenly feeling very devious.

He told himself, if it wasn't in there, he won't look for it again. So with that thought, and one last glance towards Rebecca's closed door, he snuck up to her purse as if it were a trap of some kind. It certainly lured him like one.

Trying to be as quiet as he could – not only so he wouldn't wake anyone up, but also so he could hear if someone did – he started to rummage through her purse. He ignored her, ahem, more feminine items, and he couldn't help but feel guilty as he looked through her personal things.

But then his hand closed around the small, hard object, and he immediately forgot any dirty feelings.

Rebecca's cell phone was a different model than his, so it took him a few, too-long moments to figure it out. But eventually he made it to her memory list. He scrolled through the log of calls she had made, almost certain that the call he was looking for would have been erased already.

Then he found it. February 28, 8:15 am. The number didn't have a name attached to it, and it wasn't one he recognized, especially with an out-of-town area code. He suddenly felt confused and angry. Who could Rebecca have called to discuss Sam's personal matters?

Sam stared at it, debating for a good five minutes. He was lucky no one came out during that time. Of course, it was only 6:30, he realized with a start, and both Rebecca and Zach slept in on Saturdays until at least 9.

With a sudden rush of energy, Sam pressed the dial button. His hand almost shook from adrenaline as he lifted the phone to his ear. For a moment, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to hear over the rushing of blood in his ears.

It rang three time.

"Rebecca? What is it?" The voice that answered was rough but alert.

Sam didn't reply right away, suddenly unsure of himself. "This isn't Rebecca. I'm Sam."

"Sammy?" the voice stammered, startled.

"Sam," he corrected. "It's just Sam. Who's this?"

"Wh—uh..." The man coughed, but Sam could tell it was only an attempt to stall. "What...Why'd you call me?"

"Who are you?" Sam tried again, ignoring his deflection.

There was another long pause, and Sam waited impatiently. "I'm just a friend," he finally heard. He sounded almost resigned, which only frustrated Sam. Why didn't he just tell him who he was instead of dragging it out?

He was starting to regret ever making the call and decided to get to the point. "Look. I know Rebecca has been calling you, for whatever reason." Sam took a deep breath. He wasn't used to being forceful, but he managed to keep his voice stern. "And I'd appreciate it if you two didn't talk about me and my personal matters behind my back. Whoever you are, it's none of your damn business."

"But, no, Sammy, it's not—"

He cut him off. "I told you, it's just Sam." Sam hesitated a second longer, and then snapped the cell phone shut. For some reason, his heart was pounding.

Drawing in a long breath to calm his nerves, he tried to convince himself it was no big deal. Whatever had just happened, it wasn't a big deal.

Out of curiosity, just to get his mind of that gruff voice, he scrolled through Rebecca's call list, keeping his eyes trained for the same number. He only found it on the list one other time. Rebecca had called the number again two hours after Sam had caught her. A surge of betrayal and anger flooded deep his chest. Even after he yelled at her, she had to nerve to call again, that very same day.

Strangely, that day was the only day she had contacted the man on the other end of that number, at least in recent memory. Sam was tempted to call right back and demand an explanation.

Instead, he slipped the phone back into her purse and then slumped against the counter.

Ever since he had woken up in the Warrens' apartment last summer, his whole life seemed to be surrounded by a thick fog, and everything he needed was hidden from him. And after all of his searching, all the questions he asked, he didn't feel any closer to uncovering those answers.

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