October, 2001

Sam has already spent over a month at Stanford before he decides to call home.

At first, he's simply too busy with freshman orientation, meeting what feels like hundreds of new people, and keeping up with his classes to even think about home very much, unless it's to notice how peaceful life is without Dean's constant snide remarks about how much of a nerd someone has to be to get a full ride to Stanford. And then, even when he does start feeling homesick, he resists the urge to call because he doesn't think he can endure any more ridicule. He already knows what Dean thinks of his college education; his refusal to see Sam off made it clear enough. Sam doesn't need to hear it again.

Eventually, though, he gives in, and dials his aunt and uncle's landline. He waits, strangely nervous, through four rings. It's a Saturday, late afternoon, which Sam deliberately chose as a time when everyone was likely to be both home and awake, so he has no idea who will answer.

Tommy finally picks up, to Sam's mingled relief and disappointment.

"Good to hear from ya, buddy," he says jovially. "We were getting worried that you didn't call sooner."

"Sorry—been busy—" says Sam, distracted by his uncle's use of the word we. Is that supposed to mean just Cheryl and Tommy, he wonders, or does it include Dean, too?

Tommy starts to reply, but doesn't get far before Cheryl snatches the phone away from him.

"Oh, Sam! Finally," she says. "It's not very nice of you to forget all about those of us at home, you know."

"I didn't forget," Sam assures her.

"Well then, tell me all about it. How are your classes?" she asks, and Sam spends the next twenty minutes fielding questions about his activities since arriving at Stanford.

"So how are you guys doing?" he manages to interject finally.

"Oh, we're all right," says Cheryl. "Adjusting to the empty nest."

Sam, who was about to ask to speak to Dean, frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Dean didn't tell you?" asks Cheryl, surprised. "He left a few days after you did. Some sort of extended road trip. Hasn't been home since."

Sam drops into the chair beside his desk, stunned. Dean had mentioned the road trip idea, of course, but for some reason Sam hadn't thought he'd actually go through with it. It's hard to imagine the house in Utah without Dean there. It's also strangely unsettling to think that Sam now has no more clue where Dean is or what he's doing than he has about John.

"Sam? You there?" says Cheryl's voice, and Sam realizes he's been silent too long.

"Yeah," he says, focusing again with some effort. "Yeah, I'm here. Um, but I'd better go—lots of homework. If you hear from Dean, tell him to call me, okay?"

Cheryl promises to do so, and Sam hangs up, his feeling of homesickness curiously unassuaged.

*S*P*N

Weeks pass, but Sam doesn't get any calls from Dean. In early November, he comes down with a severe cold, and spends a few days lying in bed, sucking on lozenges and littering his dorm room with used tissues. Eventually, he hits upon the idea of calling home to distract himself from his boredom and misery with some familiar voices.

Unfortunately, Cheryl's fussing mostly serves to remind him of his illness.

"Make sure you're drinking plenty of fluids," she admonishes him.

"I ab," says Sam thickly.

"Can you get chicken soup in the dining hall?"

"Prob'ly, bud I'b nod gedding oud of bed to find oud."

"You do sound awfully congested," says Cheryl. "You should—"

"Cad I talgk to Deed?" Sam interrupts, without thinking.

Cheryl pauses before answering. "Dean's on his road trip, remember?"

Sam sinks back into his pillows, dejected. He's been so wrapped up in how terrible he's feeling, he forgot that Dean isn't there anymore, that there's no one to make fun of how silly the congestion makes him sound, no one to act overly grossed out every time he blows his nose, no one to throw wadded-up tissues at in retaliation. No one to make him feel better.

"When's he comig bagck?" Sam asks, in a whiny tone Dean would surely roll his eyes at. "Thangksgivig?"

"Well, last time we talked to him he said he wouldn't be able to make it for Thanksgiving, but he's going to try for Christmas," says Cheryl.

"You heard frob hib?" exclaims Sam, sitting up so fast he feels lightheaded.

Again, Cheryl pauses before answering, longer this time. "Yeah, he called last week," she says finally. Her tone is light, but Sam can hear the frown in her voice. "Sam—"

"Did you tell hib to call be?"

"Sam—"

"Did you?"

Cheryl sighs. "I'm sure he's just busy, Sam. He'll call you when he has a chance."

Dean certainly is busy, Sam thinks darkly. Busy avoiding Sam. There can be no other purpose to this road trip of Dean's than that—Sam can't imagine what else he could possibly be up to. Whatever he's doing to occupy himself is probably too cool for college nerds, anyway.

"You could call him, you know," Cheryl points out, when Sam has been silent for nearly a full minute. "You have his cell phone number."

Sam is well aware of this. Dean's name is there in the contacts list on his own cell phone, standing out tauntingly amongst the rest, but something always prevents him from selecting it. If Dean doesn't want to be bothered, then Sam would rather not be the one to do the bothering; and almost worse than the possibility of Dean being annoyed at Sam's call is the possibility that he might simply ignore it.

Of course, the second possibility has already come true, in a way.

Sam gets off the phone with Cheryl, feeling somehow more miserable than he did before he called.

*S*P*N*

Sam somehow doubts that Dean will be home for Christmas, just as much as he doubts that Dean will ever "have a chance" to call him. Which is why, one December day just before the winter break, he catches himself pausing longer than usual on Dean's name in his contacts list.

The thing is, he's found himself in a bit of a situation, and there's no one he wants to talk to more than Dean right now. Cheryl and Tommy are good listeners, but Cheryl tends to fuss and Tommy tends to preach; Sam doesn't have the patience for them. He has friends at school, of course, but he doesn't feel comfortable enough with any of them to discuss the issue.

A few years ago, if Sam had asked Dean for advice about girls, he would have known exactly what to expect. Dean would have grinned that mocking grin of his, and teased Sam mercilessly—but all the while his eyes would have been bright with something much more sincere.

Sam isn't at all certain what to expect now, but he's desperate enough to risk it. He has to pluck up the courage to ask Jessica out before Brady gets there first, and Dean is the only one who can help him. He takes a deep breath and presses the call button on his cell phone.

He's not nearly as surprised as he might have been to find that the number has been disconnected.

*S*P*N*

He's even less surprised when Dean calls Cheryl and Tommy's landline on Christmas Eve to say that he won't be coming home after all, and hangs up without asking to talk to Sam.

A month or so later, when Sam calls home to tell Cheryl and Tommy he'll be staying in California for the summer, he doesn't bother asking about Dean.

He knows what the answer will be.

A/N: I hope you've enjoyed these little flashbacks! They were a last-minute addition to the story, but I found them really fun and interesting to write. I'd love to hear any thoughts you may have about them, and/or about the story in general :)

See you next week for the beginning of the end! It's already drawing near….