Archive of Our Own

Author: destial

Mary has been dead for nineteen years. I haven't kept the family together, Mary. I'm sorry. Sam's gone because he's headstrong and because I couldn't make him understand how important this is to all of us. Now Dean tells me he's cut off contact with Sam, and it's killing me.

--Excerpt from John Winchester's Journal, November 2, 2002

A day and a half on a bus was a lot different than a day and a half in the Impala. When Sam got off in San Jose, he was past irritable and still pissed from when he got on in Maryland.

"Great start to my California experience," he mutters to himself as he scans the local bus routes.

It doesn't take too long to get to campus, especially not in comparison to his cross-country bus ride. But between the waiting and all the stops, it still felt like forever. He's finally checked into his room with a few hours to spare.

Sam sits on the edge of his bed (covered in stolen hotel sheets), just staring at the wall for a while. His roommate – some guy named Brad or something – isn't there, but his stuff is. Sam looks at the half unpacked things and eventually pulls out his cell phone.

He hits the first speed dial and waits.

"Hello?"

"Not that you care or anything," Sam bites out, not really surprised at the sudden wave of anger that washes over him at his brother's voice, "but I made it to campus fine."

He hangs up without waiting for an answer.

At the end of his first week of classes, Sam has his cell phone out again.

He hasn't used it once since that first day, hasn't needed to. But he's kept it charged the whole time, just in case Dean decides to call. He hasn't.

Whenever Sam would get mad at him in the past, Dean would give Sam his space. It makes sense that he wouldn't call, but it still hurts.

This new life is going to take some getting used to.

Dean answers on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey Dean."

Sam's really glad Brady isn't there because he's pretty sure he let way too many feelings out in those two words. But he hears Dean's breath hitch and then his brother sighs out, "Sammy," so he doesn't feel too ridiculous.

"I, uh." It was easier having this conversation in his head. "I need to know, Dean, before anything else. Did you think because we-" He cuts himself off, staring resolutely up at the ceiling. "Because we were having sex. Did you think I wasn't going to college anymore?"

Dean's initial silence is answer enough, but then he says, voice gruff, "I thought you'd reconsidered."

Sam takes a deep breath, holds it, before replying with, "Well, I, um, I hadn't."

"Guess we were just on different pages, Sam."

"Guess so, Dean."

They lapse into silence, until Sam breaks it with a soft, "I miss you." Because a week alone is more than long enough for his anger to drain away and be replaced by homesickness, whatever that means for someone that's never had a home.

"Sammy."

Dean sounds wrecked and Sam really can't bear that, so he cuts him off before he can actually get started, asking, "How's dad?"

"Oh, dad? He's good. Yea. Uh, he's been quiet. Hasn't said much more than necessary, you know?"

Sam nods because, yea, he does know.

"He found a hunt yet?"

Dean hums before saying, "Not really. We're in Lincoln. Dad's helping a friend with something, I don't really know what."

"Lincoln?" Sam scratches at a snag in his jeans. "Which one? There's like one in every state, dude."

"That's for me to know and you to guess, jackass."

Sam can't help but grin at that. "You're such a jerk."

"At least I'm not a whiny little bitch."

"God," Sam laughs. "I can't believe I said I miss you. Is it too late to take it back?"

Dean is quite for a long moment.

"Dean?"

"Hey, Sammy, I gotta go."

"Oh. Um, hey, Dean?"

"Yea, Sam?"

Sam ducks his head, embarrassed even though there's no one there to judge him, it's just him and Dean, like it's always been.

"Love you, Dean," Sam whispers, because it's not something they say.

There's another long pause before he hears, "Yea, you too, Sammy," and then Dean hangs up.

After that, Sam tries to call Dean every few days. Dean doesn't talk much, but he never did. Mostly, he just listens while Sam rattles off all the off color thoughts he's been having all week but can't share with the "civilians."

The phone calls make the rest of September, and then October, too, a lot easier to handle than that first week. Even though he misses Dean – misses seeing him smile and feeling his warmth, misses kissing him and waking up in his arms, those few chances they got to actually sleep in the same bed – he thinks he's figured out how to be happy here. Sam even makes a few friends, who invite him to a party off campus for Halloween.

Sam wakes up the morning after the party to a pounding headache and a ringing phone.

"What?" he mumbles once he finally gets his hand on his cell. His mouth tastes awful and he's not wearing pants, but he's in his dorm so there's that, at least.

"You sober up yet?"

"Dean? How'd you know I was drunk?"

"Because you drunk dialed me last night, asshole."

Dean kind of sounds pissed and Sam isn't really sure why.

"What's wrong?" he asks, squinting against the sun to see his alarm clock on the window sill. Shit, it was already past eleven.

"Dude, you drunk dialed me and tried to get me to have phone sex. You kept asking me what I'd do to your dick if I was there."

"Oh," Sam says, lips curving up into a grin. He's been thinking about suggesting that to Dean

"Oh?"

"Yea, that explains why I'm not wearing pants."

"Damn it Sam!"

Sam is taken aback by Dean's outburst.

"Dean, what the hell?"

"I can't do this." Dean's voice is soft and if it was anyone other than his big brother, Sam might say weak, too.

"I don't understand," Sam says. "Dean, what's the problem here? Maybe I was an ass on the phone last night but it's not like you're never one too."

"No, Sam, I can't do this- this other thing you want. I don't know what you're thinking, if you've got it in your head that I'm your long distance boyfriend or whatever, but you can't leave and expect this from me too. I can't do this."

"Dean." Sam feels tears prickling at the edges of his eyes but he refuses to let them fall. "I know it's hard, it's hard for me too, man."

"It's not hard, Sam. I can't do- no, you know what? I won't do this. You wanted out? You don't get it both ways. You either come back or you stay there, but I'm not coming with you. You made your choice, Sam. Go have your normal life and find yourself some normal girlfriend and don't call me again. As long as you're there, I don't want to hear it."

Sam draws in a ragged breath and tries to collect himself enough to respond. He takes too long though and is met with the sound of the dial tone.