A/N I'm baaack. I'm stretching the logical capabilities of magic here (and there's a sentence I never thought I'd say. Write. Type. Whatever). Roll with it, okay?
Also, since several people have asked, I am now on AOC, lurking about reading. I don't know if I'll post this one there (not sure I have the energy to back-post 26 chapters, but I will be posting there, as well as here, for any future stories.
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Room 301
Wing A
Roble Hall
Stanford University
Palo Alto, CA
January 27, 2004
10:30 PM
Sam didn't even look up when the phone rang, just reached over and answered it. He knew it would be Bartock, from chemistry class, for the fifth time that night.
Less than a month into the class, and everyone was scrambling to find the chemical formula for an antidote to a theoretical poison. Even Sam was having an issue with this one, and he knew the antidote to about a dozen actual poisons off the top of his head.
"Bart, for the last time, I don't know either! Just try to figure out what would break down each component, without also killing the victim," Sam snapped, running his free hand through his hair.
"What the hell?" a familiar and much-missed voice responded. "What kind of classes are you taking? Murder 101? If I'd known college included that shit, I might've tried to go."
Sam grinned and leaned away from his dorm room desk, currently covered with various notebooks, two texts from his Chem class, and an assortment of books on poisons he'd accumulated over the years — most of which his professor probably wouldn't even know existed.
"Dude, where the hell have you been?" Sam laughed. "I called you like four times on your birthday, jerk. Least you could've done was return the voicemails."
"What do you think I'm doing, bitch?"
"Three days later? Where were you? And what were you hunting?"
"Ah, just a big ass nest up north of the Dells. No fuckin' coverage up there," Dean explained, and Sam closed his eyes, almost able to see his brother's careless shrug. "I just got back to civilization — if you can call the Dells civilization, which I'm not sure you can. Haven't found a decent cheeseburger yet, much less any good pie."
"Really? I didn't think you thought there was such a thing as bad pie," Sam mused.
"Well. No," Dean admitted and Sam easily pictured the quick, slightly sheepish grin and the gold flecks in laughing green eyes. "But I've had better."
"Damn," Sam breathed, and exhaled deeply, only just now realizing he'd been holding his breath for the last 72 hours. "You all right, Dude? Vamps knock you around?"
"Nah," Dean denied, and Sam knew from the completely careless tone that his brother had probably nearly gotten bitten, and almost certainly had a couple cracked — if not broken — ribs. "There were only ten of 'em. Dad and I had it cleared out in like half an hour."
"Then why did it take you three days to return the voicemails?"
"Snow," Dean grumbled. "I hate snow. My baby hates snow. We just hunkered down at a motel for a few days until the worst of it was over."
"You and Dad alone for three days, with no hunt. How was that?"
"Not as bad as you'd expect," Dean admitted. "We've got a nice little truce going on, right now. Mostly, we keep it all business. And we don't share a room. And there were six bottles of whiskey."
"Well, I'm glad you came out of it in one piece," Sam smiled.
"Yeah. What about you?" Dean wondered. "How're things in warm, sun drenched Cali?"
"Good, they're…" Sam felt the grin, so wide it hurt his cheeks a little. "Actually, they're amazing."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Dean, I met somebody," Sam admitted, his voice barely a whisper, full of wonder and awe.
"Holy shit! It's about time you lost your virginity," Dean laughed. "I always knew you'd make somebody a good wife one day. You know, except for the fact that you can't cook. What's his name?"
"Ha, ha," Sam said dryly, the smile never dimming. "Her name is Jessica — Jess — and she's…God, Dean, she's amazing. Brady introduced us, at this party, first night back from break. And she's just…She's funny, and so smart, smarter than me," Sam told him, ignoring the disbelieving snort from the other end of the phone line, "and sweet, and patient, and so kind…And I know we've only been together a couple of weeks, man, but…I think this is it. I really think this is it for me, Dean."
"That's great, Sammy," Dean said quietly. "That's really fantastic. I hope it works out for you, I really do. Just be sure her psychiatric care isn't too good," Dean warned, seriously.
"Her…?"
"Well, yeah, Sammy. If she's interested in you, there's gotta be something a little - whoop whoop - in her head. Unless…Sammy, be honest with me, man. Does she know you're together? Is this a stalking situation, Sam? That's illegal, you know."
"You're such a jerk!" Sam laughed.
"Maybe, bitch, but I noticed you didn't answer the question."
"I'm not stalking her," Sam grinned. "You want proof of that? Come back for a visit, man, she's dying to meet you."
Silence.
Sam frowned. "Dean? You still there, man?"
"Yeah," Dean said quietly. "You've told her about me?"
Sam scoffed. "Of course, I've told her about you! You're my big brother, man. You're the most important person in my life."
"What, uh — what else did you tell her?"
Sam sighed. "She doesn't know," he admitted. "Not about Hunting. Not about the way we were raised or…you know…what's out there."
"What does she know?"
Sam's free hand slipped, unnoticed, up to his mouth and he started to worry at his thumbnail with his teeth. "Just that, um…Dad went through a rough time, after Mom died. Drank a bit. Got a little rough."
Dean snorted, and Sam ignored the muttered understatement of the century over the line.
"And that you…that we got out. That you got me out."
"You told her that," Dean said roughly.
"Of course, I did. I mean — I do have scars, Dean. And most of them can be explained by…Dad. About half of them are from Dad. And anyway," he added with a chuckle, "once I told her…you're kind of her hero, now. She really wants to meet you, Dean. When can you come out?"
"Yeah," Dean said slowly. "About that…"
"Dean?"
"I'm not…" Dean sighed, and Sam knew the green eyes were closed, the dark blonde head was tipped back. "I can't come back, Sam. Not to Palo Alto, not to Bobby's. Not…not for a while. And I, uh…I can't…we can't talk on the phone anymore, either. This is the last call."
"WHAT?" Sam sputtered, leaping to his feet. "Why?! What the fuck, Dean?"
"Sammy…"
"It's him, isn't it? What's John saying about me now?"
"Sam…"
"What, I'm evil again? Too dangerous for you to be around?"
"Sammy!"
"He's trying to protect you from me?"
"SAM!"
Sam stopped, panting, and for the first time he was glad that Dean was on the other end of a phone line, not in the room with him, as he brushed hot tears away.
"Sammy," Dean said softly. "It's not about protecting me, dude," he explained. "It's about protecting you."
"Protec—from what? Don't tell me you're evil, too, now!"
"No. No," Dean assured him. "Neither of us is evil, Sammy, he doesn't think that. It's just…"
"Well then, what? What is it, Dean? Why does he want us apart? Is he afraid you'll stop being his perfect little soldier, stop jumping every time he barks?"
"Hey!" Dean snapped and Sam flinched slightly at the tone. "I don't jump for anybody. Not any more. He knows that, and you should, too!"
"I know, I know," Sam admitted. "I'm sorry, I just don't understand…"
"Well, if you'd SHUT UP for a damn minute," Dean snarled, "maybe I'd be able to explain it to you."
"Sorry," Sam said, chastised and sat slowly on the edge of his bed. "Okay. I'm listening."
"Okay," Dean said firmly. "First, you gotta know, dude…This wasn't Dad's decision. It's mine."
"Yours?" Sam said softly. "You…you want to get away from me?"
The words were barely a breath, and even across 2,000 miles, Dean could hear the heartbreak.
"No, Sammy, that's not it," Dean assured him. "That's not it at all. I don't want to do this. But…I don't have a choice. I really...Dammit, Sammy, this was the hardest decision I've ever had to make, man. Harder even than getting you away from him in the first place. I just…I can't…I don't have a choice, Sam."
"Why?" Sam whispered. "Just…how can you…You're talking about just walking out of my life, Dean. How can you…don't do this."
"I have to, Sammy. I have to."
"WHY."
"We're getting close," Dean explained.
"To?"
"The thing that killed Mom. It really is a demon, Sam. A Yellow-eyed Demon. And no, Dad's never heard of one of those, either, and neither has Bobby, or Pastor Jim or Caleb or any other hunter we know. But we found a little bit of lore, and if it's right…He's a real strong demon, Sammy. Like, top level. Just under the Devil himself."
"Shit."
"Yeah. Look, Dad's shown me some of his research into this bastard, and…Okay. He knows it's not your fault, all right? Really. He knows…he doesn't know why it happened, but he knows you didn't do anything. And for what it's worth…he's real sorry. For everything."
"I'll uh…I think I'll have to think about what that's worth. If anything," Sam admitted.
"Fair enough," Dean conceded. "I just wanted you to know, before…it's not your fault, Sammy. We all know that, but…it does look like he was there for you. We don't know why," Dean hastened to add. "But…that's what everything Dad's been able to find out shows. The demon was in the room for you. And…Dad thinks maybe he was going to take you, but Mom interrupted. And he doesn't know why the bastard wanted you..."
"I can guess," Sam said quietly.
"Yeah. Me, too," Dean sighed. "I haven't told him that, by the way. Dad. I haven't told him about…you. What you can do."
"My powers."
"Right. And I won't. Not if you don't want me to."
Sam fell silent for a long minute. "I don't…would it help?" he wondered. "Telling Dad? Would it…would it help catch the bastard? Help end this, once and for all?"
"I don't know," Dean admitted. "Maybe? I don't… Look, Sam. Things have changed."
"Changed how?"
"I told you, we're getting close. We think we're really getting close. I mean, we still take regular hunts and all, but…we're still hunting this bastard. We're not going to stop."
"No," Sam sighed, "I know you won't."
"But that's the problem. We're hunting it…and it's started to hunt us."
"Hunt…what?"
"The hunt before this vamp nest, we were helping out another Hunter, a guy Dad's worked with before. He's kind of a demon expert, actually, but he came across this big pack of wolves. Like, 10, 12. He asked for help. We took the pack down, the three of us, no problems at all. And then we went back to these cabins in this uh, old abandoned campground we were staying in. It was kind of nice, we all had our own cabins. I mean, no utilities, but it kind of reminded me of Bay View." Dean paused. "Jer — the other hunter, Jeremy Bolt — we were going to meet for breakfast the next morning, compare some notes we — well, Dad — had on the yellow-eyed demon against some notes Jeremy had. Only we when we got up…" Dean's voice broke, and Sam could hear the deep breath his brother took.
"No," Sam breathed.
"I heard Dad leave his cabin, and I heard him start yelling. I ran outside and…he'd been ripped apart. Jeremy. He was…I swear to god, Sammy, I've never seen…there were pieces of him everywhere. On the grass, on his SUV, on Dad's truck. Blood all over my baby. There was just…strips of skin…hanging from these pine trees like some…fucked up tinsel. And this fucking demon…black eyed son of a bitch… was just sitting on the hood of Jeremy's truck, swinging Jeremy's head back and forth by his tongue...I…"
"Dean, it's all right," Sam said softly. "You're okay."
"It's not," Dean assured him. "I'm not. Neither's Dad. Because…he had a message for us, the demon. From 'our yellow-eyed friend'. The demon said ol' yellow eyes had plans — BIG plans, he said — and we needed to stop interfering. Stop hunting him. Oh, we could take out all the vamps and weres and djinns we wanted, but keep away from yellow eyes. And if we didn't…he'd start hunting us. But not just us. He'd start hunting everyone. Bobby. And Caleb, and Pastor Jim. A bunch of other names I've never even heard, all hunter friends or contacts Dad has. And he said that he'd find you. He'd come after YOU, Sammy. The demon said that yellow eyes has been trying to find you, by the way," Dean said shakily. "I don't know if he's just not bright enough to find you, or what, but he says you're…you're hidden from him."
"Yeah," Sam agreed. "I would be."
"Wha —Why?"
Sam sighed. "I should've told you. But about six months after we got here…I, uh…I saw this demon. Or at least I thought I did…"
"You WHAT? How could you not tell me that?!"
"I wasn't sure!" Sam tried to defend himself. "It could've been the light. It was probably the light. And I just…Dean, you would've had me on lockdown so fast, I would've flunked out for sure. So, I…I took care of it."
"HOW."
"I uh — I cast a spell?"
"You…Really."
"Yeah. Kind of a..a big one."
For a moment, the brothers just listened to each other breathe.
"AND?" Dean pressed.
"I kind of…I mademyselfinvisible," Sam admitted in a rush.
"Y—come again?"
"I cast a spell — and it took me a while to get it together, figure out the ingredients, and write it. And then I had to get to the highest point on campus. But…I did it. I cast a spell on…well, on me, and also on my name."
"Your name?."
"Yeah. So that nobody who…doesn't already know I'm here…can know that I'm here," Sam explained. "My records, my name, my phone, everything. If you don't know that I'm here, you won't know I'm here."
"H…how does that work?"
"LIke, if anybody gets a hold of the enrollment records — the page will say Sam Winchester. But everybody will see Esra Switchman."
"Ezra? Jesus, Sammy. You're such a dork."
"It's an anagram," Sam explained. "I had to account for all the letters, or it would've been much harder to make the spell."
"Why not Samuel? It is your legal name…"
"Yes," Sam admitted, "but on school roll calls, the character limit for a name is about 14. Winchester, Samuel will always get shortened to Winchester, Sam."
"But your friends, they know your name. They call you Sam, right? Or Winchester."
"Yeah. So I did a second spell that covers hearing. Anyone says Sam or Winchster to me, or about me, anyone who doesn't know me will hear Esra or Switchman. Like I said, it's a complicated spell. But if the demon can't find me, it's working."
"Okay," Dean decided, not sounding at all as if he believed it. "But…If I call you — or, worse, come visit — I'll lead him right to you, Sam. No spell in the world will prevent that. And I can't have that, Sammy," Dean said calmly. "I would rather walk away and know that you're safe, than take the risk that that bastard would use me or Dad to find you."
"Dean…"
"No, Sammy. No. It's my job. Remember? Protecting you, man. It's what I do. It's what I'll always do, Sam. Until my dyin' day. And for right now…this how."
When Sam finally spoke again, Dean wasn't surprised to hear his baby brother's voice shaking, to catch the tears he knew were sliding down Sammy's cheeks. 'You can't….there's gotta be another way," Sam practically begged. "Maybe Bobby…"
"I talked to him," Dean said quietly. "On the way to get those vamps, I called him. He agrees with me. Oh, and, uh —- he doesn't think you should back to Sioux Falls for break either. Consensus is, you should just stay in Palo Alto. Or, I don't know, go home with your girl, since you got one. But stay away from us, man. ALL of us. Every hunter you know, you stay well clear of us, and we'll keep well clear of you."
"Jesus, Dean! How'm I supposed to…you're making me a fucking orphan, here, dude. I don't want…"
"I don't want you dead," Dean said sternly.
"I don't want you dead, either, asshole. Not you, not Bobby, not even Dad. The difference being that I know you, Dean," Sam snarled. "You'll find a way to keep an eye on me. Somehow, you will, I know that. But I CAN'T. If I cut myself off from everybody, then I…I cut myself off! Dammit, Dean, do you know how hard…you only call every three, four weeks as it is, text maybe every other week. And in the meantime, I don't know where you are, what you're hunting. I don't know if you're hurt or even fucking alive until I hear from you again. I mean, I tell myself that if anything were to happen, Bobby would call, or Pastor Jim, somebody would let me know, but if I…if you…" Sam took a deep breath and tried to keep his tone level and even.
Failed.
"You are asking me — no, not even asking — you are telling me, that I'll live the rest of my life not knowing if you're hurt, or, or crippled, or fucking dead, and you expect me to be okay with that? Well, guess what, Dean? I'M REALLY FUCKING NOT."
"I know," Dean said softly, trying to use his voice to soothe his brother, instead of their usual touch. "I know, Sammy. It sucks, but…"
"SUCKS? It SUCKS, Dean? The one person in my whole life I've always been able to count on is fucking walking out on me, and all you can say is 'it sucks'?! It way more than SUCKS, Dean."
"Okay, bad choice of words," Dean backed down, "but I don't think you're getting the point here, Sammy."
"You're leaving. For good. You're not coming ba-ack," Sam snapped, his voice breaking. "I got that."
"Yeah, but you seemed to have missed the part about why," Dean countered. "Right now, Sammy, you're not the hunter. You. Are. HUNTED."
"I'm not…"
"And I've got news for you, Sammy. It's not going to be long before that yellow-eyed son of a bitch isn't the only one hunting you, either."
"I…what? What are you talking about?"
"After Jeremy was killed, Dad starting calling around to other hunters, people he trusts. More or less. Bobby, and Caleb and Pastor Jim and like that. He asked 'em to do a little checking on their own. When we got back to the Dells, my phone wasn't only one that lit up with voicemails. Bobby, and Pastor Jim, and Caleb, and Martin, and Franklin and a couple others — they've all confirmed it. That bastard demon has put out the word, not just to demonkind, but to every other monster out there. He wants Sam Winchester delivered to him — alive — and he'll pay handsomely for it."
"Great," Sam sighed. "So every monster in North America is gonna be gunning for me."
"Pretty much," Dean confirmed, "but it gets worse."
"HOW?"
"Pastor Jim was the first one to bring it up, but if there are a bunch of monsters after you, and they want you alive? Right now, the hunters who know that are pretty much our friends. These guys have known you since you were a toddler, most of them. But there's a whole slew of hunters who don't know us at all — or if they do, they just know Dad, and probably don't like him much, because, well…Dad."
"So?"
"So, think about it, Sammy. If you were a hunter and heard of some kid who was wanted by monsters, and wanted alive — what would you think?"
Sam fell back against his pillow, staring at the ceiling for a moment before closing his eyes. "Shit."
"Yeah."
"They'll think I'm a monster, too."
"Yep. And it doesn't help that, until recently, your own father was getting drunk in hunter bars all across the country and calling you a monster. Hell, I've only been hunting with Dad a couple of weeks, really, and we've already come across a couple, three hunters who won't work with us because Dad's youngest son is the 'Boy King of Hell'."
"Fuck."
"Uh-huh. It's only a matter of time, Sammy…"
"Before not only monsters but Hunters come after me."
"Sammy, you gotta get out of this life, man. You gotta get right out of this."
Sam sighed, and sat up on the edge of the bed. "You know what, Dean? No. I mean, let 'em come man. With you at my back…"
"Yeah, well, that's the other little problem," Dean pointed out. "According to you, I can't be at your back, because I have to be at Dad's back or the whole freakin' planet burns."
"Dammit."
"Unless that's changed."
"No," Sammy sighed, with only a hint of a whine. "I'm still having the dreams, and my dreams keep up until either whatever happens in it happens, or is prevented."
"Great," Dean groused. "So killing 15 vamps by himself wasn't the thing that would've killed Dad. I had hoped…"
"Yeah. Well, if that hunt was over three days ago, no such luck. I had the dream again last night."
"You've gotta get out of this, Sammy, get right out. Get rid of it, all of it. I mean, keep the spell you did, keep yourself hidden, but…man, get out of that warded dorm. Or get rid of the wards. Break all the sigils, don't use salt. From now on, Sammy, you're a civilian."
"Yeah, but I'm not, Dean," Sam frowned. "I mean, San Francisco is pretty haunted, and I…"
"So you call somebody. You find a hunt — well, first stop looking for hunts, but if you do find one, give it to somebody else."
"How? You just told me I can't talk to any hunters! Who am I supposed to give it to?"
"Well, you could…." Dean began and trailed off.
"Dean?" Sam asked softly after a minute or so of silence.
"I got it," Dean said and Sam could practically see the self-satisfied smirk on his big brother's face.
"Well, they've probably got a cream for it," Sam muttered.
"Very funny, Bitch," Dean snarked, but Sam could hear the smile over the phone. "Seriously, though, I've got it."
"Got what?"
"How we keep in touch. How I know you're okay, how you know I'm okay. How you know Bobby's okay, and Dad, and whomever."
"Okay. How?"
"Remember KnightMed?"
"Uh…kinda? Doctor…Bloom, right? From Asheville."
"Yeah, and Carla, the nurse practitioner who took care you when the cloud things attacked."
"We gotta come up with a better name than 'cloud things'."
"Yeah. Whatever. Anyway, KnightMed, it's all over the country. Actually I think it's all over the world, but definitely the Lower 48."
"Again: So?"
"We use KnightMed to keep in touch," Dean suggested. "Maggie'd do it. So would Carla. We just need somebody in California, and there's gotta be at least one in the whole state, right?"
"I…I guess?" Sam shrugged, forgetting for a second that Dean couldn't see him. "But how…"
"Look, I'll call Maggie, say once every couple weeks, just to let her know I'm okay. She calls Carla, Carla calls the California contact, California contact calls you, and let's you know that everything's cool. You tell them that everything's good with you, and they call Carla, and Carla tells Maggie, and Maggie calls me, and…And neither of us is freaking out," Dean said, suddenly quiet.
"That…that's not bad," Sam admitted. "And I could call the contact at my end, let them know if I find a hunt, too."
"Yeah."
"Yeah," Sam repeated. "But…Can't they track me that way?"
"No," Dean assured him. "Carla, in North Dakota, she's like…like a, a…DMZ. A phone DMZ. According to Maggie, all of the KnightMed people get a lot of calls, and they call each other a lot, too. And no one is going to think twice about me calling a doctor, or about a doctor calling a college student. And if anybody asks, you got crabs."
Sam snorted. "I'm not telling people I have crabs, you jerk. An ulcer, maybe…"
"Yeah, you're too uptight to have crabs. But an ulcer would be about your speed."
Silence fell, and Sam couldn't have said when — or even why — the tears started falling again.
"Dean…"
"I know."
"I miss you now, man, and you've only been gone a couple of weeks. I don't know…I don't think I can do this, Dean. Never see you again? Or Bobby? Or Pastor Jim or Caleb or Martin, or…Man, I don't want to see Dad, I really don't." He took a shaky breath. "But I'd like to know that I could," he added with a whisper.
"It's not forever, Sammy. It's just until we get this bastard," Dean promised, "and then I'm coming home."
Sam huffed something that was probably trying to be a laugh, and sounded more like a sob. "Right. Because that's been going so well."
"We're close, Sammy. We're so close."
This time, it was a laugh, and a slight sniff. "Sure, Dean. You're close. That what Dad's been telling you? Dad's been saying he was close to catching the thing that killed Mom since I was five. Forgive me if I don't have a lot of faith in what John Winchester has to say about finishing up his hunt. He's never gonna stop, Dean."
"Well, I will," Dean said firmly.
Sam sighed. "No, Dean. You won't," he said calmly.
"Sam…"
"There's always going to be somebody dying, Dean," Sam admitted, finally, to himself. "There's always going to be monsters killing innocent people. And as long as there is, you're going to want to save 'em. That's who you are."
"Sammy…"
"I don't want you to change, Dean," Sam admitted and wiped the tears still wetting his cheeks away. "I just want you to come home. You know, occasionally."
"I will, Sammy," Dean vowed. "I will. I promise."
"And what if you never do find this thing, this, this yellow-eyed demon. Then what?"
"I won't stay away forever, Sam. I won't. That's my word. I'll come home. Me and my baby and you, man. The way it's supposed to be. I'm here for two reasons. The first, the most important one…"
"To catch the thing that killed Mom," Sam sighed. He'd heard it all before.
"No. That's the second reason," Dean assured him. "The first reason, is that you're having these the-world-is-burning dreams, and I have to stop Dad from dying. When that's done…well, then we'll see how number two is going. You'll tell me when it's safe to leave Dad on his own, right?"
"Yeah," Sam nodded. "We'll use the DMZ, and I'll let you know."
"And hopefully, Dad and I will catch the big bad, and I can just…come home."
"Yeah. Hopefully."
"In the meantime, young man," Dean said, mock-sternly, "you stay away from the supernatural, like I said. You got that? Keep your funky spell, Esra, but ditch everything else. No sigils, no salt. Nothing that would raise an eyebrow for anything that may come looking."
"Okay. Yeah. Okay." He smiled and bit his lip. "Just as well," he admitted. "I'd have a hard time explaining all that to Jess when we move to our new apartment."
"Your new…" Dean stammered. "Hell, Sammy, you dog! Shackin' up with the smart chick, good for you!"
"Yeah. We've got it set up for Fall, but…I guess I'll see if I can't move in as soon as the spring session's over, since I can't go back to Bobby's. Apparently. I'll send you…"
"NO," Dean interrupted. "Don't. Keep your address to yourself. Don't send it to me, don't send it to Bobby, nobody. I mean, give it to KnightMed, maybe, for an emergency, but…I shouldn't know. Nobody should. You're out of The Life, now, Sammy," Dean reminded. "Remember that. It's what you always wanted, right?" he added, lightly, and Sam could see the smirk hovering in the air in front of him.
"Not like this."
"I know," Dean agreed. "But we're Winchesters. When do we get what we want?"
"Yeah," Sam breathed. "Man, this was not the way I expected this call to go!" he half laughed, half sobbed.
"I know, I'm sorry."
"Not your fault," Sam decided. "It's just…it sucks. But then, like you said, we're Winchesters. When doesn't our life suck?"
"Last two years. Last seven, really. Still…"
"I guess we were due!" Sam chuckled.
"Yeah. Guess so."
"This is hard," Sam breathed, his voice breaking. "I didn't…It could be years, dude. Years, until my jerk big brother come barreling in to save me when I don't need saving."
"Yeah? Well, I doubt it'll be years before you do need saving, princess. And just…I can't be there now, so can you at least try not to be so fucking Jeopardy Friendly, please? And if you are, for fucks sake, call KnightMed."
"Okay," Sam laughed, wiping at his tears again. "I'll try. You try not to get eaten by anything."
"Nah, nobody's eating me. I'm too stringy."
Sam chuckled.
"Hey."
"Yeah?"
"You watch those powers, yeah? I mean…don't use 'em. We don't want those cloud things coming around and tipping off every Tom, Dick and Demon. And don't use your healing, Accident Boy. Last thing you need is to hurt yourself in front of witnesses then have to explain why there's no wound. From now on, it's the ED for you, like everybody else."
"RIght," Sam nodded. "Yeah. Binding powers. On it."
They sat there, in their respective temporary homes, neither speaking. They'd both said what they needed to say, but neither made a move to get off the line.
The old fashioned analog alarm clock in Sam's dorm ticked over the seconds.
The old model digital clock in Dean's motel flipped loudly through the minutes.
They listened to the familiar breathing on the other end of the line.
"I suppose…"
"We really should…"
They both laughed.
"Right," Sam said quietly. "I should get back to studying." I'll miss you so bad.
"Of course. I really need to hit the road, we've got another hunt a couple states over." I'm always with you.
"I'll be seeing you, Jerk." I love you, big brother.
"Later, bitch." I know. I love you so much.
Sam took a deep breath and hung up his phone. He stood, crossed to his desk, and carefully placed the phone face down on top of an ancient book bound in what was — hopefully — animal skin called Ars Veneficiorum, Venenorum et Cataplasmatis.
For a moment, he just stood there, trying to breathe.
He'd been shot, stabbed, clawed, burned, bitten, beaten, nearly drowned and thrown across more rooms and cemeteries than he could even count.
Nothing had ever hurt like this.
"DAMMIT!"
He swept his hand across his desk, scattering his carefully organized pens, pencils, and notes, three text books and the eight books on poisons he'd accumulated over the years (most of which his Chemistry professor would probably kill for, if he even knew they existed), sending it all to the floor with a satisfying crash and a series of thuds that had the coed in the room below pounding on their ceiling.
Sam didn't even hear, just leaned against the wall and slid to the ground, crying for the brother he'd lost.
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A/N
The Dells is a town/area in Wisconsin, famous as a resort area with camping, water parks, etc. North of the Dells is a wilderness area, notorious for its lack of amenities including cell towers.
Took me forever to come up with a decent anagram for Sam Winchester. And Sam's statement that most school records in the U.S. are only 14 characters long is absolutely true. Or at least it was, as of about 9 years ago.
Kudos (and commiseration on our advancing age) to anyone who recognizes where the name Jeremy Bolt comes from in American pop culture.
Lower 48 is a common nickname given to the 48 States in the U.S. which are contiguous across the North American continent between Canada and Mexico. Basically all the States except Alaska and Hawaii.
DMZ is an abbreviation of "De-Militarized Zone". It refers to a strip of land between two opposing armies where there are no weapons. It is also sometimes used in IT (Information Technology) fields to indicate an area between the internal and external networks, where only specified traffic can get through.
Crabs is a colloquialism for pubic lice. Yes, that's another STI reference.
The book mentioned is in Latin, the title meaning The Art of Potions, Poisons and Poultices. I have no idea if it exists.