Title: A New Life

Summary: Dean misses Sam after he left for college, so he calls him, but Sam isn't expecting to Dean to call. Limp!Dean.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything that pertains to Supernatural.

A/N: This story has been bugging me for quite a while. I don't know why but something about it just bothers me, however, I decided to post it in case it's just me that has something against it. It takes place when Sam goes for college. I'm sorry if Sam sounds a bit mean, this goes double for all the Sam fans. Well I hope you enjoy, and tell me what you think so please review. ^-^ (Oh and sorry if everything looks like its just one big story, I had it separated into scenes, so after a few paragraphs there would be a break without a line, but for some reason it keeps mushing it together. If anyone knows how to separate it please tell me.)

Dean called Sam, like he had done so before. Every other day, Dean would call Sam in hopes of knowing how his brother was. The first couple of times Sam had picked up, but after the fifth time or so, Sam had stopped. Even though, he had grown accustomed to hearing Sam's voice solely through voicemail, he still hoped that one day Sam would pick up.

Sam had just finished talking to his professor about a paper he had a few questions on. He was on the way to the dining hall where he would meet up with Jessica, when he felt the vibration of his phone in his pocket. Assuming Jessica had called to ask where he was he picked up. "Hello?"

Dean was caught off guard. It was Sam, not Sam's voicemail; it was the real, living Sam. He wanted to ask him how he was doing, but all he managed to croak out was, "Sam."

Sam stopped dead in his tracks; he wasn't expecting Dean's voice on the other line. He well knew he had been avoiding his calls, but this time he was trapped. He knew he should hang up, but hearing his brother's voice on the other line was slightly comforting, and he knew he would virtually destroy his brother if he hung up. "Long time no see," he awkwardly responded.

"Yea, it's been quite a while."

"So . . . um . . . why'd you call?" he said, trying to make it sound the least harsh possible.

"I was just wondering if there was any chance you know we could get together and reminisce about old times."

Sam couldn't say no to his brother, but seeing his brother wasn't on the top of his priority list either. The whole fight his father and him had had the last day before he left to Stanford was quite a painful memory. Dean had been torn into pieces that day, but in his never-ending protective duty to Sam, he had wiped away his fears and let Sam leave. He owed it to his brother to meet up. "Yea, sure there's a café right outside the college, is it okay if I meet you there say on Wednesday at noon?"

"Yea sure." Dean then heard a beep signaling another call, "I gotta leave you another calls coming in, see you Wednesday."

Dean's heart leapt in joy, he was going to see his brother again. He missed his brother. He felt like his other half was gone. No matter, how much bickering they did, especially in the last couple of months before his departure, he missed him, but the past was past, especially since they were meeting up again. When he answered the other line, he heard Bobby's voice. "Dean, I think I found a hunt. I was thinking your dad should do it, but his voicemail answered, so I thought maybe you would be up for it."

Since he was a kid, his dad had ingrained it into his mind that it was his responsibility to help others, but this time he couldn't. He had been waiting too long to see Sam and he couldn't stand him up. "Yea sure, I'll do it, but it's going to have to wait a few days. I have to do something first."

Bobby was tempted to ask, why Dean was eager to put off a hunt, but for the first time in a long time he heard joy in Dean's voice. Ever since his brother left, Bobby made sure to keep contact with Dean, because he knew he was broken up after their fight and knew that Dean had the tendency to get reckless. However, he deemed it best to just leave him be, so he gave him the address and bid him farewell.

On Wednesday, Dean put on his leather jacket, grabbed his keys, checked out of the motel, and got into the Impala. He hesitated to turn it on, but he had already said that he would meet Sam. For his brother's sake, and he turned on his Impala and drove to the café. He got some coffee and chose the seat in the back-most corner.

Two hours passed and Sam still hadn't come. Dean had watched a number of people come and leave, but none of those people were Sam. 'Maybe one of his classes went overboard.' Dean thought, but after another half an hour of waiting, he was sure Sam wasn't coming. Dean was just getting ready to leave when one of Sam's friends came. "Hey, are you Dean?"

"Yea, why?" well knowing the reason why this man was there.

"Sam wanted me to tell you that he can't make it. He has class and like he's preparing for one of his finals, he can't skip class. He says he's sorry and says in case there is anyway you guys can meet up some other time."

"Okay thanks, I'll give him a call later." Dean's heart plummeted, he had been looking forward to this day, but as was expected Sam had found another way to avoid him. Dean got into the Impala fuming. His baby brother had left him there. He had set aside other priorities just so Sam could leave him like this. Why couldn't he have called to tell him? Why couldn't he have said another day? No, his brother had chosen another life. He chose the life without monsters, without problems, without Dean.

Dean found the little sheet of paper in which he had scribbled the location Bobby had given him. It was a simple salt and burn; little could go wrong, so he could have the chance to vent. He sped off to the location. A number of times his speed was well above the speed limit, but the purr of the impala's engine as he sped off helped pacify his anger.

He drove all afternoon and night nonstop. In the morning when he got there, he saw that the house fit the traditional haunted house description. It was old, broken into, and falling apart. Since there was no one he could talk to about the history of the told house, he decided to go to the library and do some research. He quickly found the cause of the hunting; a man had committed suicide. However, during the police investigation, the police had found the blood of another victim. By the amount of blood, it was clear that the man had died, but the corpse was never found. They assumed it was hidden within the house so they searched the premises, but they still didn't find the corpse. The house had some sort of historical value, so the city had banned them from destroying further to find the body, so they just fenced off the house and let it fall to pieces.

As was typical, a rumor started going around that it was haunted. Of course, several idiots had decided that it would be a smart idea to go inside. However, when they did not return home a few days later, their parents called the police. The police searched the home and found the bodies of the three teens. They had been mysteriously killed. The body's had been drained of all blood. Now it was Dean's responsibility to make sure that the haunting ended and no more lives were lost.

That night Dean went to the cemetery and dug up the body of the person who had committed suicide. After a few hours of digging, he found the coffin. He threw it open and found the rotting corpse of the suicide victim. Mindlessly, Dean poured salt and lighter fluid all over the corpse. With one last glance, he threw a lighter into the pit. The body went up in flames. He sat there and waited for the fire to eventually die down at which point he threw the dirt back in.

He threw the shovel and the rest of his equipment into the trunk of the impala, and saw that the morning sun was beginning to pierce the darkness. Although he had already forgiven Sammy, he was angry with himself for having postponed the hunt. His anger had fueled him thus far, but now his body demanded food and sleep, but Dean refused to cave. As he got into the Impala, his stomach started growling for food. So after much contemplation, he drove to a nearby diner to catch a bite and refuel on coffee, deeming it best to hunt on a full stomach.

As Dean sat in the diner looking over newspapers for clues as to where the other body might be hidden, he got lost in his thoughts finding the newspapers more boring than usual. Ever since he started hunting alone, Dean felt empty. At diners, his flirtatious side had died down, no longer feeling the need to show off. Sam was no longer there to roll his eyes at Dean's corny pick-up lines. He didn't have Sam to bounce ideas off anymore; if he ever needed to share his ideas with someone, he had to call his dad, who rarely picked up, or Bobby. Dean knew he was becoming more and more reckless; he did things that he would have never done had his brother been there. This time, he was going to play it safe for Sammy's sake. He was going to make sure that he would call Sam after this hunt, so they could hopefully meet up although all signs clearly showed Sam had no intention of meeting up. With a slight shake of his head, he snapped back to reality. Dean assumed that because he had burned the corpse, the house would no longer be haunted so burning the other corpse would be a piece of cake.

Luckily, the house was on the outskirts of town so there was no one near to discover Dean. Upon entering, he pulled out his EMF reader. Despite the fact that the body had been burned, the EMF reader spiked with activity. Dean cautiously followed the EMF reader's highest readings. Within minutes, he found that the place with most activity was the top of the stairs. He put down his rock salt filled shotgun and began tearing away at the floorboards.

Then, without warning, he was sent flying into the wall. It was clear that the ghost had very little intention of leaving. The ghost looked directly into Dean's eyes and said, "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. Dad always favored you; let's see how happy he is without you."

Dean was taken aback. Apparently the ghost hadn't been the victim, rather the attempted murderer. The suicide victim had been defending himself from his brother, when he accidentally killed him. Upon realizing what he had done, he committed suicide. Now his brother was getting retribution for having been murdered. Somehow though, the ghost's words struck a spot. They reminded him of the day Sam left. The way he ranted about hating the life of a hunter resembled the ghosts words. Remembering why he was there, he quickly scanned the surroundings looking for any escape route. However, the only way to leave was going through the ghost so he said, "Look, I think I really should be leaving now, so now if you don't mind I'll grabbing my stuff and leaving," slowly making his way to the stairs.

Dean's antics only further angered the spirit and sent Dean toppling down the stairs. On his way down, Dean cried for help well knowing that this time there was no one who could help him. 'Sorry Sammy,' he thought. On his way down he hit his head on one of the steps and became unconscious.

John had been researching this haunting for a few days. When he received Bobby's message about the haunting he knew that he had to check it out. As he pulled up the place, he saw the Impala. He assumed it would be best if he let his son handle the case. It had been a while since he talked to Dean. In a way, he was kind of avoiding his son. He did keep a watchful eye over his son, but everyday they talked less and less. However, as he was getting ready to leave, he heard his son's anguished screams. John grabbed a shotgun and ran into the house. He heard the ghost cackling above. Anger cursed through his veins and he shot the ghost causing it to dissipate. John ran to the top of the stairs. Using his son's equipment, he set fire to the corpse. He grabbed his son's gun and ran back down to Dean. Within minutes, the fire had consumed most of the top floor. John bent down and picked up his son and ran for the door. The timbers of the old house started falling upon them as the fire devoured the building. They managed to make it outside before the house crumbled to pieces. Knowing that the police and firefighters would come soon, he loaded his son unto the truck and called an old friend to come to tow the Impala. When he put Dean in the shotgun seat, he felt the blood trickling out of his son's head. Taking his son to the hospital was too risky, so instead he drove at top speed back to the motel at which he was staying.

He lay Dean down on the bed, while he went and gathered his first aid kit. He looked at his son's injury and saw that he needed stitches. He grabbed some holy water and alcohol and cleansed the wound. Dean feebly attempted to move away from the pain, but there was little he could do. John firmly grabbed Dean and started stitching his wound. When he finally finished the last stitch, he cleaned it one more time. He grabbed some gauze and firmly attached it to his son's head. Normally he would need to wake Dean up, but he knew he had been knocked out cold and getting him back to consciousness was not going to be an easy task. He heard a knock on the door and saw that it was Robert, the man he had asked to tow the impala. Robert had brought the impala and wanted to make sure John was okay. John's call had really scared Robert. John explained that his son had gotten hurt in the house while hunting down a ghost. Most would have been scared, but Robert had had his own share of supernatural experiences. John thanked him and went back to tend to his son.

John looked watchfully over his son. He covered him with the blanket and tucked it in. It had been years since John had last done that. It pained him greatly that he and his son were not that close, but hunting allowed little time for family time. John sat in a chair and turned on the television hoping to make time pass faster.

John was starting to doze off, when he heard some murmuring. He grabbed the gun he had at the foot of the chair and immediately raised it up in caution. He inspected the room only to find that it was Dean. Dean was tossing and turning, murmuring something about Sam leaving. The more John listened to his son's ramblings the more it sounded like the day Sam had left. Since Sam's departure, he had let Dean hunt on his own. In fact, they rarely hunted together, much less slept under the same roof. Dean must have been having dreams about the night Sam left. However, the dreams today sounded too lucid as if something recent had made them be more vivid. Thanks to their father-son relationship, he knew that Dean would never confess that he was having problems, much less confess that he was having nightmares. Every time he had talked to his son, Dean had said everything was fine. With his callused hand, he gently rubbed Dean's forehead to let him know that he was there. Slowly, Dean stopped and fell back to a peaceful sleep.

Dean had no idea what time it was, all he knew was that his head hurt like hell and the light seeping in through the blinds was not helping. He buried his head into the pillow before taking a tiny peek at the time on the alarm clock. It was 10:39 on a Sunday morning. It was way too early he thought before burying his head into his pillow again. Slowly, however, he started to remember what had happened these last couple of days. He remembered the ghost laughing as he fell down the stairs, before the world turned black. 'Wait,' he asked himself, 'how can I be in a motel room, if I fell down a flight of stairs?' He swung his legs over the side of the bed and attempted to get up. He would have made it, had his headache not tripled in size sending a wave of nausea cursing through his body. Giving himself a few minutes to compose himself, he tried again. He stumbled to restroom to inspect his wound. He took off the gauze only to find his father's neat stitches. Smiling slightly, he returned to the bed where he found a bottle Tylenol to help with the pain and a note. The note read:

Hey Dean,

I was checking out the haunting, when I found you. You were unconscious, so I brought you back here. The impala is outside and the keys are in your jacket. I left to go do a hunt in Oklahoma. The room is rented for a week so rest before you hit the road. I took care of the ghost so don't worry.


He wished John had stayed a bit longer or had given him the opportunity to do a hunt with him, but that was unlike his father. Dean stayed there a day longer, before checking out. Dean returned to Stanford to check up on his brother. From the distance, he saw his brother and a couple of friends talking excitedly about something. With one last glance, he drove off to find another hunt, accepting that this was the life his brother wanted so he would not bother him further.