The Travels of a Dusty Student

A/N: Hello all! It's been a couple of weeks and I've missed you! So busy with life, zero time, and since the Season Finale, no inspiration - but I hope to make it up to you in this three-part drabble, which includes:

This week's word "dust" and the birthday wish for Newspaper Taxis (Happy, Happy, Happy Birthday!)

Last week's word "student" helped along by the picture Meredith sent to us.

And the week before that's word "travel".

Each part is 100 words on the nose, so for those of you who would complain otherwise, you won't need to. ;-)

Kudos to Meredith for getting us the challenge early this week!

This week's word inspired all of this, so ENJOY!

Spoilers/Warnings: This is set post Swan Song and contains allusions to things that happened pre-series, as well as during Dark Side of the Moon, Two Minutes to Midnight and Swan Song.

Distracted from the musty books he was slowly making his way through, Sam watched the dust motes dancing in the shaft of sunlight illuminating his brother's sleeping form.

Dean should have stayed comfortably ensconced in Lisa's fourposter today, instead of dragging his not a hundred percent self to the library with the unrealistic expectation of actually helping.

Swine flu wasn't something you got over easily without the vaccine, and Sam understood perfectly his brother's unwillingness to be vaccinated.

What he didn't understand was Dean's downright pigheadedness in having to be wherever he was if the both of them were awake.


Glancing at his brother's open, drooling mouth -- if the dark spot on his sleeve was any indication -- Sam sighed, hoping that time would eventually convince Dean of his change in priorities.

Distancing himself from all things Winchester had once been his goal in life.

He had escaped to Stanford -- taking on the role of a college student -- and in the process hurt his brother immeasurably.

He had done everything in his power to get away from Dean and now, older and hopefully wiser, Sam would do everything in his power to make it up to him.


Taking his feet off the chair they were crossed on, Sam closed the book in his lap and laid it on top of the "return pile".

Musing, Sam stood. If St. Augustine was right and "The World is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page," then Dean and I have read volumes.

"Where you goin'?" Dean croaked.

"Re-shelving some books... I won't be far."

Nodding, Dean placed his head back on his folded arms.

"You should've stayed in bed."

"I go where you go," Dean mumbled stubbornly.

"And I wouldn't have it any other way."