Where Were You When?

I do not own Supernatural and am in no way affiliated with it… unfortunately…

Where were you when September 11, 2001 happened? (I was in school…) I was wondering where the two hottest guys in the world were… Were they shooting a movie? Were they with friends? Family? Were they sleeping (Time differences. L.A. – both live there – is several hours behind New York)? Were they in the city? Overseas? Considering that I will most probably never know, I'll try it for Dean and Sam Winchester (The hottest guys in the world, of course. Yet they're fake, unfortunately.)

Note: Dean would be twenty-two years of age and Sam would be eighteen years of age. Sam's gone to college, as he is eighteen and it is September, the school starting month. Dean and his Dad, often referred to in the story as John, would be traveling together at this point. I think that's all the notes you need, so enjoy:)

Where Were You When?

Dean was hunting. Early morning hunting. A Wendigo was in the woods down in some little town in Texas. He had to kill it. Simple as that. At eight in the morning – nine in the morning in N.Y. – he was done. Finished. Job over. Simple. Then things got less simple.

He had gotten in the car and laid there for a second. Soaking up the joy of a hunt well hunted. Then he had gotten the phone call.

"Dean, where the hell are you?"

It was Sam. Dean could tell the voice from a mile away. Make that thirty miles.

"What?"

"Where are you?"

"Texas. Why? What's wrong?"

It was one in the morning in Stanford. Why the hell was Sam calling now?

"Dad's with you?"

"No Sammy! Now what the hell's going on?"

"New York. Twin Towers were… were… They…"

His voice drifted off, leaving Dean to guess.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell me what happened."

"Right. Uh, the Trade Towers were- or are being destroyed. Hijackers flew planes into them. A few planes."

Dean was shocked. The Towers? New York? Planes? What the hell was happening?

"Dean?"

"What?"

"Where's Dad?"

"New York… Fuck."

"What part, Dean? What part?"
Dean racked his memory. Where did their Dad say he was going? Something about mysterious deaths in… What part? Bronx. That was it.

"Bronx, Sam. He was in the Bronx. Safe right? Sam, is he safe?"

There was silence on the other line then an answered quivered out, "I don't know."

"Sam, where are you?"

"Stanford apartment."

"Stay there. No classes today. Okay?"

"Okay. Find dad alright?"

"Alright. Sam, promise me. No classes, stay home. Okay?"

"I promise Dean."

"Good. Call me if you get news."

"Vice versa."

"Deal."

Dean closed his phone and sunk in his seat. All hell was breaking loose. And all he could do was wait. It made him feel so helpless. There was nothing he could do. Nothing. But call Dad.

After three rings he heard a voice.

"Dean?"

Coughing. Coughing was bad.

"Dad?"

John's voice was barely hearable, for all the screaming and chaos in the background.

"Dean, where's Sammy? Where are you?"

"I'm in Texas. Sam's at Stanford. Where are you?"

"I just got into Pennsylvania. There was so much chaos. I couldn't stay there. I just finished the job though. What about yours?"

"Finished, sir."

Dean was going into soldier-mode. In a time like this, it was needed.

"Good. Go to Sammy. Stay with him. I'll meet you there. Don't call. I won't answer."

Dean started to answer 'yes, sir' then came the dreaded click. No goodbyes, no take cares, no nothing. Just click.

By midnight, Dean was at Sam's apartment – which he shared with some friend, Tommy something-or-another. Sam opened the door and said nothing to Dean. Silence. Sam was in mourning for the second time in his life. He had always wanted to work there. Dreams shattered. But now he could never even visit. Now thousands of Americans were dieing. Because of some asswholes somewhere who thought it wise to fuck with America. Bastards.

Minutes turned to hours and hours into days. By the fifth day Dean was staying there, John showed. It was around noon and Sam was getting ready to start classes – the first one since Dean had been there. John looked ragged. Like he could sleep for hours. He probably hadn't eaten in days.

Sam gave him a sandwich and his bed. Simple gesture but it meant the world right now.

John grabbed the sandwich and said coldly, "Good to see your okay. Dean I've got another job. I'll call you with details for yours."

Dean nodded and watched as their Dad left, closing the door behind him.

"I better go, Sam. Thanks for… for everything."

"Yeah," Sam said, face down. He was upset. His dad said one lousy sentence. He put his life on hold. The whole world had. And got one lousy sentence of thanks.

Dean got to the doorway and turned to Sam.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah," he said, still examining the floor.

"You got a call while you were at the store yesterday."

"Who from?"

"Jess. Ring a bell?"

Dean's face was smiling. He would leave Sam with a smile. The world was frozen in time during the hectic week that followed the attacks. And the least he could do was make Sam smile.

"Uh… yeah. I've been going out with her, until this week. I'm not sure if we're still together."

"The way she talked to you… I think so."

Dean was still smiling.

"What?"

"I pulled a few strings and well, I played Sam Winchester. Man, she was worried about you. And I said you'd go for dinner tonight. On me."

Dean smiled and handed Sam three crisp $20 bills.

"Treat her right Sammy. She's hot."

Sam smiled. That was what Dean was going for. A smile. And Sam knew it.

Dean walked out the door, closing it behind him. Sam didn't move for a few seconds until a thought popped into his mind.

How did he know Jess was hot?


He knew, because he 'Googled' her. Got a few pictures… Hehehe….

Did I hit the right nerves? Make you want to cry – remembering the attacks and make you laugh – thinking how Dean would lighten the situation so?

Drop me a line. Thanks. :)