Wanted

Chapter 32

Dean pauses, his hand hovering over the call button. This is it. One more button, and he's on his way to talk to his brother. That's the one connection he still has. This is the one person he can still talk to.

And that's why he doesn't want to do it.

What if he says something stupid? What if he fucks it up? What if he already knows what Dean's done? So many things could go wrong right now.

But it could also go right.

Dean presses the button.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

"Hello?"

Dean takes a deep breath. "Hey, Sammy."

There's a pause on the other end, then, "Who is this?"

He hadn't planned for that. This is what happens when you don't take to someone for six years, apparently.

"It's Dean."

There's another pause, and this time, it last even longer than before. It almost seems like there's not going to be an answer when he hears, "How did you get this number?"

"That's, uh..." Dean chuckles awkwardly. "That's really complicated."

"Well, I'm very interested in what complicated way you got my number," Sam says, not sounding too happy with him. Dean probably deserves it.

"I asked a friend," Dean says vaguely. Castiel counts as a friend, right?

"Who do you know that has my number?" Sam asks. "And how did you know they had my number? Are you, like, hanging around Stanford asking about me?"

"I told you, it's complicated," Dean says. "You're still at Stanford? I thought your four years were over by now."

"I'm in law school now," Sam says. "Why do you care?"

"I'm just interested," Dean says, and he means it. It's been so long. He just wants to know what his brother's been up to lately.

"Dean, we haven't talked in six years," Sam says. "I have a hard time believing you're suddenly interested in what I'm doing."

"But I am," Dean insists.

"What do you want, Dean?" Sam asks. "I'm not giving you any money, if that's what you're thinking."

"No, I know," Dean says.

"And I'm not bailing you out of jail, or giving you a ride, or —"

"I know," Dean interupts. "I'm not asking for a favor, just a conversation."

"Yeah, I don't think so," Sam says. "Look, these last six years have been the best six years of my life. I'm sorry, but I know that associating with you is not going to help that."

"Sam —"

"Goodbye, Dean."

Click.

Dean just stares at the wall, still holding the phone to his ear. He knew he and Sam weren't neccesarily on the best of terms, but he thought they'd at least be able to talk. After all, Dean wasn't the one who scared Sam away; that was their dad. Dean just stood there and listened. Why would Sam take that out on him?

Or maybe it's not about that. Maybe he just doesn't like Dean as a person. That would make sense. Dean hasn't exactly been the most upstanding citizen, and he's definitely not winning any Brother of the Year awards.

"Well," Dean says as he puts the phone down. "That sucked." He turns around to face the officers, who have all been watching him uncomfortably closely. "But the show must go on."