Easy come, Easy goCliché said to explain the loss of something that required only a small amount of effort to acquire in the first place.


Summary: AU 8x01 – Sick Sam, Protective Big Brother Dean, Suspicious Amelia – "Sounds like you fight for what you want and protect what you love," the man commented over the phone. Amelia nodded at the accurate description. "I do," she confirmed. "So do I," the man responded smoothly. "And I'm coming for Sam. So you take care of him until I get there…and then we'll see who he chooses."

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Warnings: Spoilers for Season 8 and usual language.

A/N: The challenge I put forth to myself – to make a generally unsympathetic character (like Amelia) somewhat sympathetic and to also put an AU twist on the 8x01 episode while including my favorite combination of sick Sam and protective, big brother Dean. So, here we go...


All it'll take is just one moment, and you can say goodbye to how you had it planned. ~ The Avett Brothers


The sound startled her awake, and she laid there for several seconds; blinking at the ceiling as she tried to orient herself to the dark room and to figure out what the hell that persistent, repetitive noise was.

And then she realized.

"Dammit..." Amelia swore in annoyance and sighed as she ran her fingers through her hair, sweeping the messy strands from her face and wondering who the hell was calling past midnight.

But the timing felt wrong even as the thought passed through her mind, and she rolled over, squinting at the red glowing numbers on the bedside clock and feeling vaguely confused that it wasn't nearly as late as she had thought.

Only 8:06.

"Huh," Amelia mused, untangling her fingers from her curly brown locks and rubbing the back of her hand across her eyes; not surprised that she had accidently fallen asleep but wondering how long she had been lying there.

The last she remembered they had eaten an early dinner – leftovers for her, a couple bites of soup for Sam – and then they had retreated back to their bedroom where she was just going to rest beside Sam for a few minutes until he settled.

But she guessed "resting" had turned into actual sleeping and those few minutes had turned into a few hours since it had been daylight when she had first closed her eyes...and now it was dark.

Not to mention that she was still fully dressed – except for her shoes – as she lied on top of the comforter.

Amelia sighed, still feeling slightly disoriented, and belatedly realized the phone was still going off.

But the realization came too late as the cellphone stopped vibrating on the nightstand as suddenly as it had started.

...which was just as well.

After all, Amelia wasn't on call for work and certainly didn't feel like accepting a social call, either.

Hell, she didn't even have the energy to check who had called much less carry on an actual conversation with somebody.

So, it really didn't matter who had been on the opposite end of the unanswered line.

If it was important, they'd call back.

But Amelia hoped they didn't.

Because she had no interest in anything beyond sleeping.

Especially after the week she had endured, caring for the sick at work and at home; a seemingly unending loop of monitoring fevers, pushing liquids, and administering medications.

But it was worth it.

He was worth it.

Amelia smiled at the thought of him and glanced at Sam beside her on the mattress; thankful he was now deeply asleep – as evidenced by his lack of reaction to the vibrating phone that had clattered against the nightstand.

But rest was the best thing for him – even if it was caused by a mixture of fatigue and prescription-strength drugs – and he seemed to be getting it; his congested breathing the only sound in the room instead of the restless movement from earlier.

Amelia sighed, briefly slipping her hand beneath Sam's bangs and palming his forehead; his hair not quite as damp, his skin not quite as warm as before.

The combination made her ridiculously happy.

"You're cooler," Amelia told Sam as he slept, smiling softly at the good news. "Finally," she added and lightly kissed his slightly flushed cheek; hoping Sam was indeed on the mend from whatever respiratory virus he had picked up last week and had been kicking his ass ever since.

At the foot of the bed, Riot shifted and sighed; his paws pushing against their legs as he stretched.

Amelia smiled at their bed-hog dog and then refocused on Sam. Her smile lingering as she continued to lie beside him in the moonlit darkness of their bedroom – Sam beneath the blankets and her on top since she had not planned on staying earlier.

But even though she was now awake – and had several things to do around the house – Amelia couldn't persuade herself to get up; instead staring at Sam and marveling at how their paths had crossed; how life had seemed to grant her a second chance, having lost her husband to war...but having gained the opportunity to save another soldier.

Not that Sam had ever said he was a soldier.

At least, not yet.

They hadn't really shared much of their past with each other thus far.

But she knew.

In her heart, Amelia knew Sam had seen battle, had survived a war of his own – along with the catastrophic loss of his older brother that he had confided – and she was thankful to be the one helping Sam regain his feet; thankful that he was helping her do the same.

"I think I love you," Amelia whispered to him, carefully brushing strands of hair from Sam's eyes as he continued to sleep beside her; strangely feeling on the verge of tears for having something – someone – she didn't deserve.

And whether Sam knew it or not, whether she ever confessed that to him or not...she didn't deserve him.

But here he was, and she intended to keep him.

Amelia quirked a smile at her inner dialogue – as if Sam was a lost puppy that had wandered into her life – and knew her mother would roll her eyes if she could hear, would make some comment about veterinarians always thinking in terms of animals.

"He's not a dog, sweetheart," her mom had said more than a few times throughout Amelia's life when it came to men.

And though Sam was certainly not a dog, it had been because of a dog that their lives had crossed.

...which just further proved that animals were Heaven sent.

Amelia snorted at herself – glancing at Riot curled up on the bed with them – and then sighed; her fingers crawling along the edge of the smooth cotton linens as she reached for Sam.

Her hand carefully settled on his back as he slept sprawled on his stomach; his arms beneath his pillow, his face still turned toward her with his hair fanned across the pillowcase.

He looked peaceful, but Amelia blinked at the unnatural heat she could feel through his t-shirt and the sheet covering him.

"Hmm..." she hummed as she frowned – because maybe Sam's fever wasn't down as much as she had thought.

...which meant maybe he needed more Ibuprofen.

He probably did.

But he was sleeping now, so she would worry about it later.

No need to wake him and risk him not being able to fall back asleep; not after how sick he had been and how many sleepless nights they had endured together this past week because of his illness.

Amelia nodded in agreement with herself and began rubbing Sam's back; an unexplainable need to comfort him, to touch him and to let him know that she was there; that she knew he had suffered loss, but she wasn't leaving him.

And maybe subconsciously she searched for a reciprocated promise – that he wouldn't leave her, either.

A girl could hope.

And she certainly did.

Amelia sighed.

Sam slept on.

Riot did the same.

Amelia's smile lingered.

Because this was all she had ever wanted – a good guy and a good dog.

...which meant life was good.

At least for now.

There was a contented beat of silence; Sam's steady, slightly wheezed breaths having a strangely soothing effect.

Amelia closed her eyes, her hand still resting on Sam's back as she allowed the rhythmic sound of his breathing to lull her back to sleep.

But it didn't last long.

The phone resumed vibrating on the nightstand, and Amelia startled awake once again.

"Ugh. Go away," Amelia groaned to whoever was calling – really not in the mood for this – but pushed herself up on one elbow, glancing at Riot as he sat up as well.

Wordlessly, she held her finger to her lips and shook her head, not wanting the dog's movements to jostle the mattress and disturb Sam.

Riot tilted his head but seemed to understand Amelia's silent command, remaining still and quiet as he watched her snag her phone from the nightstand on her side of the bed.

But it wasn't her phone that was vibrating this time.

"Duh, Amelia..." she chastised herself and shook her head – she really needed more sleep – and slid the phone back to where she had found it; instead rolling over and shifting positions on the mattress to carefully lean over a sleeping Sam.

As if mocking her, the phone continued to vibrate noisily.

Amelia glared; her nerves already frayed from the worry and fatigue of the past week, and the grating sound of the phone's vibration only worsening her irritation.

Plus if the asshole who kept calling woke up Sam, there would be hell to pay.

Amelia's glare intensified at the thought.

Seeming to sense her bad mood, Riot whined softly.

"Hush," Amelia hissed, cutting her eyes at the dog, and then glanced at Sam as she reached for the buzzing phone on his nightstand.

Not caring that the device didn't belong to her...or that she could've pressed "ignore"...or that she could've let the call go to voicemail.

She only wanted it to shut up.

And the quickest way to make that happen was to answer the damn thing.

So, she did – pressing "answer" and holding the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" Amelia asked quietly, her arm beginning to tingle from the way she was awkwardly propped up; her elbow digging into the mattress.

There was silence on the opposite end of the line.

But Amelia knew someone was there; that the person was quiet because he...or she – though it better not be another woman – was startled that Amelia had answered and not Sam.

So, maybe it was another woman...

Amelia scowled at the thought. "Hello?" she repeated.

"Uh, yeah..." a voice responded.

And thank god it was a man.

Amelia sighed in relief, feeling silly.

But Sam was one of the best things that had happened to her in a long time, and she was protective of him...maybe even a little possessive.

So excuse her if she reacted badly to the idea, to the daily fear of someone taking him away from her.

Amelia shook her head, feeling her hair skim her shoulders as she tried to focus. "May I help you?" she politely asked, remembering that summer she had worked the reception desk at a local animal clinic.

"Uh, yeah..." the man repeated, now sounding a bit concerned and suspicious that Sam hadn't answered the phone. "Who's this?"

Amelia didn't miss a beat. "Who are you looking for?" she skillfully dodged, and she could practically hear the arched eyebrow on the opposite end of the line.

The man chuckled at the vaguely smartass response and offered a smartass reply of his own. "I was looking for Sam."

...which made sense.

After all, it was Sam's phone.

"Are you the girlfriend?" the man asked her; his tone implying he already knew she was.

But Amelia blinked at the description; her and Sam having not officially labeled themselves as such – boyfriend, girlfriend – though she knew they were.

"Amelia Richardson, right?" the man pressed, and again his tone implied that he already knew he was right and was only double-checking his facts.

Amelia narrowed her eyes.

Because who the hell was this?

It wasn't like Sam had a lot of friends. He was polite and appropriately social when they were out together. But for the most part, Sam kept to himself. Amelia couldn't imagine him just freely sharing personal relationship information in the community.

Plus, Sam hadn't even wanted a cellphone and had only gotten one at Amelia's insistence. So she also couldn't imagine him just freely handing out his number for people to call him. In fact, she could count on one hand the number of times he had received a call over the past six months that had not been from her.

So...who the hell was this?

And how had this man gotten Sam's number?

And what did he want?

Amelia shook her head, uncertain of the answers to those questions but beginning to feel strangely panicked and defensive.

Riot whined as he stared at her from the foot of the bed.

Amelia shook her head again, glaring at the dog as Sam shifted at the high-pitched, distressed sound.

"Was that a dog?" the man asked, seeming surprised.

Guess he didn't know everything after all.

Amelia smirked at the validation.

"Well, I'll be damned..." the man commented and then chuckled. "Sammy finally got a dog." He paused. "And a girl," he added and then chuckled again, seeming genuinely pleased. "Good for you, Sammy."

Amelia arched an eyebrow.

Because seriously...who was this?

"Anyway..." the man dismissed, not seeming to care much about Amelia or the dog as his attention returned to the reason for his call. "Is he there?" he asked about Sam, though his tone was more demanding than questioning.

Is he there? I know he is. Let me talk to him.

Amelia glanced at Sam sleeping beside her, not willing to wake him and unexplainably reluctant to inform this stranger of Sam's whereabouts...or of anything else about Sam.

After all, just because the man had Sam's number – and knew her name as well – didn't mean this man actually knew Sam.

Maybe it was a wrong number.

Even though Amelia knew it wasn't.

She swallowed.

"Hey..." the man called, clearly beginning to lose patience with Amelia's stalling in regards to putting Sam on the phone. "You hear me?"

Amelia arched an eyebrow at the clipped words. "Yes," she replied but offered nothing more.

She could practically hear the man glaring at her.

"Listen, sweetheart – "

"May I ask who's calling?" Amelia countered before the man could continue, trying to regain her composure while still following protocol from when she had worked as a receptionist.

The man hesitated. "Dean," he replied and then chuckled self-consciously, as if even he couldn't believe he was making this call; as if he thought he would never again have the chance to talk with Sam.

Amelia blinked. "Excuse me?" she blurted; her tone sharp as she changed positions, the news causing her to sit completely upright on the mattress.

Because she only knew of one person in Sam's life who had that name...and that person was dead.

Sam's brother was dead.

Sam had said so; had cried when he had first told her and even now would tear up at the mention of Dean's name; the pain of losing his big brother soul-crushingly deep.

And now some asshole was calling Sam's phone and claiming to be Dean?

Um...no.

Hell no.

No fucking way was some prank-calling jackass gonna get his kicks by wounding Sam like that.

No fucking way.

Not on Amelia's watch.

And especially not when Sam was already sick and weak.

Amelia clenched her jaw as a wave of protectiveness surged through her, and she reached for Sam in the moonlit room; her hand once again resting on his back as he slept beside her, completely oblivious to the call from the grave.

Amelia snorted soundlessly and shook her head in disgust, wondering what kind of sick bastard would play this kind of game.

At the foot of the bed, Riot watched her intently; his ears twitching anxiously as he sensed the intense emotions welling within her.

Amelia exhaled a slow, deliberate breath; refusing to allow this asshole to get under her skin.

"Hello?" she prompted when the phone connection suddenly filled with static.

"Yeah, I'm here," the man answered. "I'm on back roads right now, so..."

The man's voice trailed off, not needing to elaborate on how back roads often screwed with cellphone connections.

Amelia said nothing, becoming aware of the faint hum of an engine in the background and wondering where this guy was.

Was he coming to their house?

She sure as hell hoped not.

Amelia swallowed, her mouth dry from the heat of anger. "What did you say your name was?"

The response came with no hesitation this time; the prank caller apparently finding his balls and committing to his role.

"Dean," the man told her and then paused. "Sam's brother," he added before pausing again. "I'm not sure if he's told you – "

" – of course he has," Amelia snapped and then literally bit her tongue, refusing to play this asshole's game.

Because contrary to what he had just said, this man was not Dean.

Dean was dead.

"He has, huh?" the man asked about Sam having mentioned Dean to her, and Amelia could hear the man smiling; could hear how pleased and proud that made him.

And she wondered if this man would be so pleased and proud if he knew how heartbroken and lost Sam had sounded when he had called for Dean in his fevered sleep over the past week. She wondered if this man even realized how much pain this call would've caused Sam if Sam had been the one to answer this evening; if Sam had been awake and lucid enough to answer the phone before she had.

Amelia swallowed, briefly closing her eyes at what a fucking nightmare that would've been; briefly offering thanks that Sam was peacefully sleeping beside her instead of having his heart stomped on by some dickhead who needed to stop prank calling and get a fucking life.

"Does he still have my baby?" the man asked fondly.

Amelia opened her eyes at the question; vaguely impressed that, based on what little she knew, this man certainly had the role of Sam's brother perfected; knew their history and knew which terms they used to refer to which things.

...like "baby" referring to Dean's car; that classic '67 black Chevy Impala that sat out in their driveway.

The car that Sam drove; the car he would sometimes just sit in for hours.

The car Amelia could see the outline of right now behind the curtains of their bedroom window.

Amelia's gaze rested on the familiar silhouette before glancing at Riot still curiously staring at her from the foot of the bed and then refocusing on Sam as he shifted beside her on the mattress in his sleep.

On instinct, she reached for him; rubbing his fever-warm back and smiling softly as he stilled beneath her touch; reminded of how much he meant to her, how much she loved him, and how much she wanted to protect him from the asshole intending harm.

Amelia sighed, returning her attention to the phone she held. "How did you get this number?"

The man chuckled at her question. "I can always track down, Sammy," he told her, spoken like a true big brother.

And again, Amelia was vaguely impressed with how well this man was playing his role of impersonating Sam's Dean.

"Nobody knows that kid like me," the man continued, his tone genuine and affectionate.

Amelia narrowed her eyes, almost liking the man in that moment.

But no...he was only playing a game.

And a cruel one, at that; one she would not allow to hurt Sam.

"Even after everything..." the man added.

The statement nostalgic and seeming to be said more for him than for her.

The man cleared his throat. "Anyway..." he sighed. "Let me talk to Sam."

Amelia blinked at the demand from the opposite end of the line, glaring at the man's presumptuousness and feeling her earlier protectiveness return.

Because there was no fucking way this man was talking to Sam.

Even if Sam wasn't sick and exhausted, there was still no way she would ever willingly let someone upset him – especially not an impersonator claiming to be Dean.

Amelia shook her head, drawing her legs up beneath her as she continued to sit on the bed next to Sam. "No," she responded simply to the man's demand, one hand rubbing between Sam's shoulders while the other held the phone.

"It wasn't a question," the man pointed out, instantly annoyed and newly suspicious at her refusal to put Sam on the line. "I want to talk to Sam."

"No," Amelia repeated more forcefully, lowering her voice when Sam shifted again.

"Why?" the man growled.

"Because he's asleep," Amelia informed, glancing down at Sam. "And I'm not waking him up." She paused, feeling her anger return. "So there, asshole. Find someone else to prank call."

Amelia nodded at her own advice and waited for the fallout.

But whatever.

She wasn't scared.

Not in the least.

If this man wanted to hurt Sam, he would have to go through her first.

And she was ready for battle.

Come at me, bro.

Amelia smirked, feeling strangely energized at having the opportunity to put this jackass in his place.

The man snorted. "This ain't a prank call, sweetheart," he replied coolly. "And why is Sam asleep at 8:00 at night?"

Amelia ignored his question. "Not a prank call?" she challenged instead. "Right. So, I guess you expect me to believe that Sam's dead brother has risen from the grave and is just reaching out to check on his little brother."

"I don't care what you believe," the man returned.

And Amelia believed that.

"Why is Sam asleep so early?" the man persisted, concern in his voice. "Is he sick?"

Amelia blinked, once again almost liking this man.

Because he sounded like he was worried, like he cared about Sam.

And who else but a big brother would so quickly realize that if a guy Sam's age was in bed and asleep at 8:00 at night, then it probably meant he was sick.

"Is he?" the man pressed.

And for some reason, Amelia knew the man's grip had tightened on the steering wheel of whatever he was driving as he traveled the back roads of wherever he was and waited for her answer.

But before she could respond, Sam did; not verbally but in the form of a wet, chest-rattling cough.

Amelia grimaced at the painful sound and glanced down at Sam as he shifted beside her restlessly.

"Whoa," the man commented, having obviously heard Sam's cough and taking it as confirmation of his suspicion that Sam was sick. "That sounds like bronchitis."

And it was.

Amelia narrowed her eyes, wondering how the man had diagnosed that so easily over the phone.

"Respiratory infections always go straight to his lungs," the man remarked worriedly and then sighed. "How's his fever? Holding steady?"

"Yes."

"And he's on meds, right?"

Amelia nodded. "Yes, of course."

"And he's taking them?"

"Yes."

"Good," the man replied. "But I bet he's being a stubborn little shit about eating and drinking..."

Amelia laughed softly before she could stop herself. "Oh my god yes," she agreed, strangely comforted that this man seemed to understand how frustrating Sam had been about that over the past week.

But wait...

Amelia blinked and shook herself, her light feeling instantly vanishing as she realized just how damn good this man was. How he had effortlessly just sucked her in to his game and momentarily made her play along; made her believe that he was Dean, that he was Sam's big brother who knew Sam like no other.

But no.

Dean was dead.

And as much as the remembered realization stung Amelia, she couldn't imagine how much it would've pierced through what was left of Sam's heart if this impersonator had gotten to him tonight.

Thank god she had answered Sam's phone instead.

Thank god.

Amelia swallowed, feeling on the verge of tears from despair and rage; both emotions intensifying with each heartbeat.

On the opposite end of the line, the man seemed to sense the dramatically dark turn of her mood. "Amelia..."

"You're good," Amelia told him, the praise cold and angry. "You're really good."

"Okay..." the man allowed, sounding confused as to where this was going.

"For a minute there, I almost believed you," Amelia confessed and shook her head at how momentarily naïve she had been. "But you're not Dean," she continued, her voice cracking at the pain she felt for Sam's sake that his brother was dead.

Because she knew how badly Sam wished that wasn't true; knew how much he missed Dean.

She had seen his tears, even the ones he had tried to hide.

And her heart broke for him, knowing she could never truly ease that hurt.

Amelia exhaled a shaky breath. "You're not Dean," she repeated to the man on the phone. "Because Dean is dead."

"I can see where Sam would think that," the man responded seriously. "I can see where he would tell you that, but – "

" – no," Amelia replied evenly, refusing to be sucked back into this man's game. "No," she said again, more firmly. "You're not Dean. And I'm not sure how you found Sam...or how you know so much about him...but you are not talking to him."

"Amelia – "

" – and you're not talking to me anymore, either," Amelia informed coolly, instantly done with this asshole and irritated with herself for entertaining his malicious game for this long.

"Amelia..." the man tried again, his patience thinning.

She ignored him.

"I'm hanging up now," Amelia told him. "And I'm gonna cancel this number and never mention to Sam that we had this conversation. Because you're not Dean."

"Amelia..." the man began once more, a hint of respect in his voice at Amelia's obvious protectiveness of Sam. "Listen – "

" – no, you listen," Amelia countered sharply. "I suggest you get a fucking life and never try to contact Sam again. Do you hear me?"

The man snorted at her suggestion, clearly accepting it as a challenge. "Sounds like you fight for what you want and protect what you love."

Amelia nodded at the accurate description. "I do," she confirmed.

"So do I," the man responded smoothly. "And I'm coming for Sam. So you take care of him until I get there...and then we'll see who he chooses."

Amelia swallowed – frightened more by the man's confidence in Sam's decision than by the implication of his actual threat – and opened her mouth to speak...but closed it when the man promptly hung up on her.

Amelia blinked.

There was a beat of stunned silence as she stared at the phone before quickly powering it off and then holding it against her chest; closing her eyes as she felt her heart race.

...I'm coming for Sam...and then we'll see who he chooses.

But that was ridiculous.

There was no choice for Sam to make because Dean was dead.

And whoever Amelia had just spent the last ten minutes talking to was a total whacko who was probably only bluffing about coming to their house; was instead looking up the next number on his list to prank call.

But how had the man known so much?

That was what unnerved Amelia.

Beside her, Sam shifted on the mattress; his legs moving restlessly beneath the blankets as his head wallowed on the pillow.

"'Melia..."

Riot wagged his tail at the sound of Sam's quiet, hoarse voice.

Amelia opened her eyes, her attention snapping to Sam.

"'Melia..." he called again, opening his eyes as well and squinting up at her.

Amelia smiled. "Hey..." she greeted warmly, setting Sam's phone on her nightstand and then easing herself back down beside him; consciously rearranging her expression to hide her distress.

But she had been too late.

Even sick and half asleep, Sam had seen.

Amelia maintained her smile anyway. "How are you feeling?" she checked, slipping her hand beneath his bangs and gauging his fever to be about the same.

Sam ignored her question, opting for one of his own. "S'wrong?" he asked her inside of a cough and then swallowed as if doing so was painful.

Amelia shrugged with the shoulder not resting against the mattress as she laid beside him. "Nothing," she assured even as her heart continued to hammer in her chest while she replayed the conversation she had only moments before with whoever had been at the opposite end of Sam's phone.

Sam frowned. "Did somebody call?"

Because he had the vague sense that maybe somebody had called...or maybe he had dreamed it. The fatigue and the medications and the overall sickness were blending his reality and dreams these days.

Sam sighed. "'Melia..."

Amelia hesitated, tempted to lie...but deciding against it. "Yes," she told him about someone having called. "But don't worry about it," she added quickly. "It was just a wrong number. I handled it. Everything's fine."

But the more she thought about it, the more unnerved Amelia felt.

Sam looked doubtful at her explanation but was too exhausted to pursue the issue further.

A wrong number was a wrong number.

And if Amelia said everything was fine, then fine.

Sam had other things to worry about...like trying to breathe.

He sighed hoarsely and then coughed again, the sound harsh and wet.

Amelia wrinkled her forehead in concern and sympathy. "Easy," she soothed and resumed rubbing Sam's back. "Do you want some water?"

Sam shook his head as another round of coughing erupted from his chest, leaving him gasping for air.

"Shh..." Amelia comforted, her hand moving back and forth between his shoulders.

Sam sighed, the sound weak and breathless.

Amelia frowned, hating how miserable he was.

At the foot of the bed, Riot yawned loudly and stretched out with a sigh of his own.

Amelia quirked a tired smile at their dog and then glanced at Sam. "Go to sleep," she urged him as well; wanting Sam to rest, wanting that peaceful feeling back that had been shattered by the man's phone call.

Sam hummed his agreement with the suggestion of sleep; his congested inhalations slowly evening out.

Amelia continued to rub his back – the rhythmic motion soothing her as well as him – and stared into the darkness of their room as she laid beside him on the bed.

...I'm coming for Sam...and then we'll see who he chooses.

Amelia shook her head against her pillow as the man's words echoed in her mind, telling herself that her fear was ridiculous; that she needed to relax.

Because no one was coming for Sam.

Sam wasn't going anywhere.

The man who had called wasn't Sam's brother and wasn't coming to their house.

It had just been a game; a malicious prank call.

But it was over now.

Sam was with her and would stay with her.

Because the only person who could ever persuade Sam to leave was his brother...and Sam's brother was dead.

Dean was dead.

...wasn't he?


Originally intended to be a one-shot and thus FIN at this point. But due to an amazing amount of reader requests, it's TBC now. :)