A/N: Goodness, I got a lot of emails about followers. Review, perhaps? I'll post chapters 4-6 today and the last three tomorrow. The only reason I'm staggering them out, btw, is cos I have to reformat every. single. one. and it gives me a headache. Again, ::[text]: is Dean (think outgoing arrow) and :[text]:: is Sam (incoming arrow).

::Any suggestions what my major should be?:

:What sounds good?::

::Several, Sam, that's why I'm asking you! What did I like doing?:

:I suspect anything you liked doing before will be things you still like doing.::

::That's very vague.:

:I'm sorry.::

::Did I cook before?:

:No, not really, but that doesn't mean you couldn't, I guess.::

::Real vote of confidence there, bro. What about architecture?:

:That definitely didn't come up in our line of work.::

::Any hobbies you can divulge?:

The reply was a while in coming. :RPG. Strategy in general. Reading people. Finding workable solutions.::

::Wow. I'm sorry I asked. And will putting your number as my emergency contact be too 'dangerous'?:

:Yes. Are you going to be living on campus?::

::If I can.:

:Okay. Don't put down my number. I'll get back to you in a minute.::

Dean stared at his phone, unsure how he should be feeling.

Sam texted back with two phone numbers. :First number's Uncle Bobby (Robert Singer). He isn't our real uncle but he might as well be. Put him down as your emergency contact. He'll get in touch with me if something happens.::

::And the second number?:

:My new cell.::

::Am I correct in assuming I won't get an answer if I ask why you're changing cell phones?:

Another pause. :I'm sorry Dean.::

Dean hissed out his frustration. ::If you gotta keep secrets, you gotta, I guess.:

:I really am sorry. God, Dean, you have no idea how much I wish I could tell you everything.::

::Actually, Sam, probably about as much as I wish you could tell me everything.:

Sam didn't reply.

::So I never went to college before?:

:No.::

::That would explain why dealing with this shit doesn't feel familiar.:

:I shouldn't laugh. What kind of shit?::

::No you shouldn't, asshole. Just-out-of-teen-years shit. What kind of music is this?:

:Be careful playing Led Zeppelin too loud, though: that attracts 'I was born in the wrong century' types.::

::Led Zeppelin is not that old!:

:You think 18-yr-olds care?::

::Why did I let you talk me into this?:

:You decided to go to college all by yourself.::

::Yeah, well, it's hard to turn down 'I'll pay for everything.':

:It certainly is.::

::You know, I looked into the scholarship.:

:Oh?::

::Apparently I'm the first sponsor. It's a brand new program.:

:Oh?::

::Dammit, Sam, I know this is you somehow.:

:You're one suspicious son of a bitch. I look like the kind of person who's won the lottery to you? Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Dean. Just enjoy the ride. Study hard. Party hard. Avoid the freshmen.::

::Why, because they're not legal?:

:Yes but also no, asshole, they're just annoying. You may not remember being 18, Dean, but trust me, you think you know everything at that age and you know nothing. NOTHING. Most 18-yr-olds are pretentious as SHIT. They think they've got their act together and they DO NOT and they're secretly terrified and they think they're being 'deep' or some shit because they're scared about the future. They're too stupid to realize that everyone is scared of the future.::

::Am I sensing some projection there, bro?:

:Shut up and unpack, bro. What dorm are you in?::

::I forget. Why, are you gonna visit?:

:I might.::

That pulled Dean up short. He rifled through the paperwork and found the dorm name. ::You're gonna love this. It's Einstein. Einstein dorm.:

:God.::

Dean smirked. ::No, Einstein. Where are you?:

:Just crossed the border into NE. There's a reason they're called the flyover states. If I never see another blade of stupid prairie grass again it will be too soon.::

::Were you already on your way here?:

It took Sam a moment to reply. :Yeah, kinda.::

::When will you be here?:

:Not for a week, I think.::

A week? ::How long does it take to drive from NE to AZ?:

:About 20 hours, barring other stops.::

Other stops. ::Ah.:

:Sorry. I'll text you when I cross state lines.::

::Stay safe.:

:You too.::

From what? Dean wanted to ask, but didn't.

Dean's phone chimed just as he was settling down to watch a dumb paranormal show. :Welcome to Arizona.::

::What the hell, I thought you were going to be a week?:

:So did I but things turned out differently.::

What things? Differently how? ::Good. You can help me move furniture.:

:Wait, I just remembered something important…::

::Asshole. When will you be here?:

:It'd be 2am if I just drove straight there, so I was gonna crash at a motel soon and get there by 9ish.::

::Do you need to sleep? I'll still be up at 2am anyway.:

:I won't be party crashing, will I?::

::I'll let it slide this once.:

:Are you partying?::

::Technically, the roommate's partying.:

:Oh my god, Dean.::

::You did say party hard.:

:I give terrible advice.::

::I dunno, you were right about the freshmen. They ARE pretentious as shit.:

:Welcome to Phoenix.::

::Welcome indeed. Party's just getting started.:

:Oh god.::

::When are you getting here?:

::Sam?:

::Sam, where the hell are you?:

:Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you.::

::Where are you?:

:Outside.::

::Why aren't you inside?:

::Sam, I swear to god, if I don't see your ass in here in five minutes, I'm gonna track you down.:

Dean was half-listening to a sophomore ramble about her failing love life when he finally saw Sam appear in the doorway. He raised a hand, inhaled to call his brother, then paused as Sam stepped into the light from the living room lamp.

Sam looked terrible. A long, thin line of red cut across the bridge of his nose and under his right eye. His eyes were sunken and if Dean had thought he'd seen dark circles before, he redefined them now. Sam had cut his hair short, too short in Dean's opinion, making his ears look too big and his head too small for his broad shoulders. He didn't look like he'd showered, shaved, or changed clothes in a while. Despite said broad shoulders and being taller than anyone else in the room by at least three inches, Sam looked skittish, and his darting glance scanned the crowd before settling on Dean. He relaxed slightly and smiled a smile that was at least half-forced. He waved and held up a six-pack in his other hand, then jerked his head backwards as if to say Can we talk somewhere quiet?

Dean nodded once and said goodbye to the sophomore, who barely noticed his absence when another guy sat next to her. Dean slid through the crowd easily and stepped outside the dorm room. "Teenagers," he said, adding some enthusiasm to his voice. "Think they don't need-"

Sam hugged him without warning and released him just as suddenly. "Hey," he said, sounding out of breath. "How's it going?"

"Fine," Dean hedged. Sam looked worse up close. In addition to sunken and bruised, his eyes were bloodshot. The skin around the cut across his face was raised and red. Bruises peeked out from under his shirt collar, and his worn-out long-sleeved shirt and dirty, wrinkled black jeans looked (and smelled) like he hadn't changed in a few days. "I guess there are too many people to move my furniture, huh?"

Sam nodded, forcing the smile again. "Yeah, uh…" He rubbed the back of his neck, then offered the six-pack as if he'd just remembered it. "This, um, this used to be your favorite." The smile fractured and disappeared. "Or, well, it's the kind you always bought."

Dean glanced it over, barely noticing the brand name. "Looks good," he said. "I think there's a way onto the roof, though there might be some teenagers making out up there."

"We could talk in the car," Sam offered. He still sounded like he'd run several miles to get here, rather than up two flights of stairs.

Dean nodded again, noting with displeasure the way this whole situation had changed from 'talking to my adult brother' into 'figuring out what the hell is up with my jittery brother and not making any sudden moves in the meantime.' "Shall we?" He gestured toward the staircase. The door banged open and half a dozen teenagers spilled out, some already halfway drunk.

Sam scanned the crowd as if looking for someone, then nodded once and murmured 'excuse me' and 'pardon me' as he slipped past the teenagers. He clattered down the stairs, one hand ghosting along the railing and the other clutching the beer, and Dean got a look at both the back of his neck (more bruises) and the back of his head, where the hair was cut so unevenly he wondered if Sam had cut it himself.

"Are you okay?" The grimly-spoken question echoed in the stairwell.

Sam turned and looked at him in surprise, then grinned. The harsh blue lights washed out what color was in his face and cast stark shadows, making his thin face look almost skeletal. "I'm fine."

Dean was, to use a single word, unconvinced.

The Impala was parked down the block a little but not so far they couldn't see Dean's room windows glowing with yellow light. Dean pictured Sam sitting in the driver's seat, jiggling a leg, maybe chewing his fingernails. He wished it was easier to picture Sam sitting in the driver's seat just looking up, not on edge, just… he didn't even know. Just not this Sam.

This Sam who slid into the driver's seat with a grimace and was pulling out his keys before the door was even shut to sort through the loaded keyring for the bottle opener. This Sam who worried his lower lip as he uncapped two bottles with precision, his eyes focused and almost feverish. He handed one to Dean and clicked their necks together before taking a long pull. Dean was slower to drink, his eyes widening as he swallowed. "Damn, that is good beer."

Sam turned to smile at him, white teeth gleaming in the indirect light from a streetlamp. "Yeah, it's good stuff."

"I had good taste."

"Have."

"I won't argue." Dean shifted in the passenger seat, turning to face Sam. "So how've you been, really? And don't lie and say you're fine," he continued, overriding Sam's not quite spoken objection. "Because you clearly aren't, and you're a terrible liar."

The smile returned, or an almost passable imitation of one, anyway. "Really, Dean, I'm okay." A hand came up to scratch at the cut and then dropped. "I mean, it's been hard, but… I'm okay. I'm figuring it out." He ran a hand through his hair, clearly not used to the haircut yet.

"You cut your hair yourself?"

Sam shrugged slightly. Dean sensed the move was cautious and wondered how many bruises were hiding under the wrinkled navy blue shirt. "Why pay someone when you've got scissors?"

"Other people have experience. Finesse."

"Ouch." Sam laughed. At least 25% forced. "I'll pay for someone to get it buzzed or something, how's that?"

"Hell no." Dean tried to keep his tone light. "Your ears are way too big for a buzzcut, Dumbo."

Another laugh. Less forced. "Geez, you still know how to cut deep." Sam ran his hand through his hair again, grimacing slightly. "See, this is why I was gonna crash and come tomorrow. I could've showered."

"Dude, I'm living with teenagers. You think I care about a little BO?" Dean was surprised to discover exactly how much he didn't care. "You do look pretty awful, though, dude. When's the last time you slept? Or ate?"

"Your tendency to mother-hen me hasn't changed either." Sam sounded like he couldn't decide whether he was going to be angry or amused.

"Seriously, Sam. Last real meal?"

"Ah-" Sam waved it away. "Yesterday sometime."

Dean resisted the urge to press the question. Yesterday when, Sammy? Breakfast? Lunch? Instead, he said, "There's a 24-hour diner down the road a little. Caters to the college crowd. Good burgers, and dirt cheap cos, again, college crowd."

"Dean, I'm a wreck-"

"I'm hungry too, man. Especially thinking of those burgers. And they make a mean apple pie. It's a block straight, then one block to the left."

"With an open container in the car?"

Dean considered. "We could walk." He pushed at Sam's shoulder, noting the way Sam tensed and winced. "Do you good. You've been in this car too long. C'mon, two blocks."

"All right, all right." Sam got out of the car with care, using the door as leverage again. "Hey, uh, Dean?"

Another lightless explosion went off behind his eyes and Dean leaned on the car. "Uh, gimme a sec."

"Whoa, hey, Dean, are you okay?"

His vision swam, the road swaying in front of him. "I'm fine."

"Oh, like hell you get to pull that card-" Sam was around the car in an instant, rock-steady hands on Dean's wrist and elbow. "Do you need to sit down? Does this happen often? What causes it?"

"No, no, and you." It took a second to realize he'd said it aloud. Dammit.

Sam stiffened beside him. "Oh." It wasn't so much a word as an exhalation, like all the air had been driven from his lungs.

"What were you gonna ask, Sammy?"

Sam stared at him for a long moment, laughed once incredulously, then shook his head. "You called m- Uh, I don't remember."

One of these days, Dean thought grimly, I am going to make you laugh for real.