Part V

[kaylennz]

Sam had always known that Dean was good with cars. It was something taken for granted years ago. He’d just never put much thought into the details behind that knowledge.

Until now.

Sam's first week of employment at Walker's had been an eye-opener in more ways than one. Not only had he underestimated the skill required for often intricate engine and body work, he'd had no idea the amount of time it took to repair or replace even the most basic of parts. And really, how could he, having never owned a vehicle of his own. For as long as he could remember any work that needed to be done on the Impala had been done by John or Bobby until Dean was capable enough to completely take over.

There was so much more to it than he'd ever imagined, and a lot of it was time consuming. Sam soon discovered that oil changes and basic maintenance work ended up having relatively predictable timeframes. Both were pretty straight forward and had set rates and services charges, barring any unforeseen complications. Most other jobs were by the hour, and time certainly was money at a service rate of $70 per hour.

Inspections could be a bit more unpredictable and depended on the condition of the vehicle. Over the course of the week, Rand worked with Sam on what to look for when assessing a pass/fail. It was a relatively simple checklist that Rand had down to a fifteen minute science. As a licensed mechanic, Rand would still make the final call, but Dean felt it would be a good way for Sam to familiarize himself with the various makes of vehicles.

While appointments were preferable, customers often tended to just drop by for inspections. Sam found that Dean did his best not to turn people away, no matter how busy or full the day already was. His brother watched him quietly, off to one side, as Sam did his first solo check. Feeling a bit self-conscious, he took longer than was perhaps necessary, but was unaccountably pleased when Dean gave him a slight nod of approval and walked away - leaving Sam to complete the transaction on his own.

Seven out of ten vehicles passed inspection with no problems. Those that did not required a once over by Rand and then an appointment for any necessary work. If someone was in a real pucker, a referral to another business wasn't entirely unheard of. Walker's had a steady stream of business and was currently booked up to two weeks in advance. Some were unwilling to wait. Others, Sam soon discovered, were loyal and regular customers.

The second week found Sam growing more comfortable in his new environment. His worry that he wouldn't be productive or knowledgeable enough to be of any real help was soon put to rest. A quick and determined study, he was an extra pair of hands that was all too often needed. In those rare moments when he didn't have a task set before him, Sam took the initiative to be of assistance wherever possible. He helped Liv with inventory, placed orders for parts, and did any number of little things that allowed Rand to focus solely on the day's work orders.

Since Rand did mainly maintenance work, he had a good turnover in getting vehicles in and out. On the other hand, Dean could spend the entire day on one vehicle, but the work was often more involved, time consuming and, in Rand's own words, surpassed his knowledge.

Sam was surprised to discover that Dean also had a select clientele of customers who specifically requested his services. Some, Rand informed him proudly, came from as far as four states away and set their appointments up months in advance in order to secure a spot in Dean's schedule. Most were involved in the classic and antique car shows that always seem to pop up during the summer months. Given that the owners of these rare and expensive vehicles tended to be very particular about who they allowed beneath their hoods, Sam could not help but be impressed…and proud.

Dean was definitely in his element at Walkers. He was confident and comfortable in a way that Sam had never witnessed before. Gone was the false bravado and cocky arrogance that so often was more for show than anything else. For the first time in a long time, Sam felt he was really seeing the man behind the mask, the brother he lost when Dad’s perfect little soldier took over. Dean had never truly abandoned him of course, but the nature of their relationship had changed as Sam became more and more capable of taking care of himself.

And it had changed again when their feelings for each other took an unexpected and surprisingly intimate turn.

They’d never acted on those feelings - never verbally spoken of them, but both were painfully aware and confused by them. Well, Sam was confused. He suspected somewhere along the way that Dean had come to terms with what he felt and was okay with it.

Dean always saw things in black and white. He didn't complicate things with shades of gray the way Sam did. The way Sam knew he did. Just before he'd left for Stanford, Dean had finally said something that indirectly acknowledged what was happening between them, and it only happened once. The comment was in regard to an odd situation they'd encountered in which an elderly woman had fallen in love with a nineteenth century businessman who was haunting her home. He had died peacefully in his sleep almost a hundred years prior, and for whatever reason, had been unable or unwilling to move on.

The woman refused to have her home cleansed and threatened John with bodily harm if he so much as dared to set a foot back inside her house. At the time, Sam hadn't completely understood why. After all, how fulfilling could such a relationship really be? Dean's response had surprised him, "If you’re lucky enough to find the other half of your soul in this whacked out world we live in, you do whatever it takes to hold on to them. Even if that means letting go of everything else you believe in."

The quietly spoken words had resonated within him for years, but it was only in the last couple that he could actually feel them in his heart and truly recognize Dean as the other half of his soul.

The irony that Dean no longer recognized him at all was not lost on him.

He knew when he left for Stanford that Dean was in love with him, had also known that Dean would never act on those feelings unless Sam acknowledged them in some way. He couldn't do it. Not then - and not for along time after. He just wasn't ready. So he left, and Dean had let him go.

Leaving wasn't a mistake, Sam knew that now. It was something that had to happen to get him to where he was now. When the time came for them to finally be together, and he believed that time would come, it had to be as equals. For that to happen, Sam had to break away - find his own way for a time. He understood that now.

By God it had hurt like hell at the time, though.

"Sam!"

Startled, Sam blinked a couple of times.

"Where were you, man?" Rand chuckled, "you were gone."

Sam cleared his throat and straightened from where he was leaning against the wall watching Dean work. "Just thinking."

"Must be heavy duty. I've been trying to get your attention for the last two minutes."

"Sorry," Sam apologized with a sheepish grin.

"Got someone who stopped in during their lunch hour for an inspection. You mind taking it?" Rand asked.

Sam had finished his shift ten minutes before and had been waiting for Dean so they could hit the gym together. He looked over at his brother; denim-clad legs bent at the knee the only part of him visible beneath the vehicle he was working on.

"Sure."

Twenty minutes later, he was back at his post and Dean showed no signs of surfacing. Rand's wife arrived with lunch for the two of them and they chatted a bit while waiting for Dean. Rand was about John's age and had been doing this type of work for most of his adult life. He and his wife Tess had been married for 18 years and had no children. He had been hired by Ramsey Walker and worked with him for two years before his untimely death.

It was clear that Rand was very fond of the entire Walker clan, but most especially of Dean. There was genuine affection and admiration in his voice whenever he spoke of him to Sam. From what Sam observed, Dean held Rand in similar regard. He sensed in each a faint echo of need for the father/son relationship that was denied them both. Sam couldn't help but wonder what John’s thoughts were on that.

"What's everyone hanging around for?" Liv asked, appearing from the upstairs office. "It's lunch time."

Everyone pointedly turned to look at Dean, still only visible from the waist down. Liv made her way to Tess and Rand. “Why don’t you two eat upstairs in my office,” she invited, “it’s much cooler.” While the garage itself was air conditioned, it was just too big to make much of a difference during the hottest part of the day.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Rand grabbed Tess’ hand and they disappeared up the stairs.

Liv made her way over to Dean. Looking down at him, she shook her head fondly before using the point of her shoe to kick lightly at his boot.

The muscles in Dean's legs tightened before the creeper he was lying on rolled free from under the car, where he was installing a new exhaust system. He quirked an eyebrow at Liv in question.

"Lunch time," she said. Dean watched her mouth move and continued to look at her curiously.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Exasperated, Liv reached down and gave a tug on the tiny earphones attached to Dean's iPod. "It's time for lunch," she repeated.

"Already?" Dean looked at his watch, clearly surprised by the time. Sam gave him a hand up and tried not to watch too closely as his brother worked his way through some stretches to loosen stiff muscles.

"You still up for the gym, ¨ Dean asked.

"Whenever you're ready,” Sam replied. He didn't have class today so the rest of the day was his.   Originally the half days were meant so that Sam could job search in the afternoon. However, since that was no longer an issue he planned on discussing more hours with Dean. It was obvious that Walker’s was busy enough to need the extra hand.

"Gym? Are you boys actually going to find time to eat lunch this time?" Liv paused on the way to her vehicle.

"I'll grab something later,” Dean said moving to the sink to wash his hands.

"Mmmm, hmmm," she eyed him doubtfully. "I'm meeting Beth Parsons for lunch at Smitty's Diner. I'll pick you up something." She didn't offer him an option to refuse. "See you Friday, Sam," she smiled at him and squeezed his arm on the way past.

Dean checked the time again as they passed the clock. He bumped Sam’s shoulder as they exited. "Next time, just kick me."

As they were heading to their respective vehicles, Liv pulled up along side of them in her SUV. She opened her mouth to say something, but Dean beat her to it.

"Pastrami," he knew she was going to get him something to eat, it may as well be something he liked.

Liv looked disappointed, "they have a wonderful Greek salad."

Dean blanched, "I don't do olives."

"I can order it without olives," she countered.

"Too many onions."

"You love onions."

"On my cheeseburger..."

"Garden?" Liv tried.

"Just veggies?" Dean shuddered. “Ugh.”

"Chef?" Liv asked hopefully.

"Tasted funny last time. And the lettuce was yellow."

Sam hid a smile at the pure exasperation in Liv's voice as she said his brother's name.

Dean flashed her a knowing and playful smile and leaned in the window to kiss her on the cheek.

"Make it a grilled chicken Caesar and you've got yourself a deal, woman,” Dean said with a laugh when it visibly dawned on Liv that he was messing with her.

"Oh, you..." She drove off.

"Extra croutons!" he called after her.

Liv acknowledged him with a wave out the window as she turned on to the highway.

Sam followed the Impala into town, parking next to Dean in front of the gym. He grabbed his bag from the backseat and was just about to enter behind his brother when his wandering gaze just happened to collide with a familiar pair of brooding, molasses colored eyes. He froze.

"Hey," Dean had turned to look at him, "you coming?"

"Ah," Sam stumbled for an excuse, "yeah. I...ah...I forgot. I need to make a quick call." Smooth. "I'll meet you inside?"

Sam waited until Dean had disappeared inside with a curious backward glance before making his way across the street to the figure leaning a little too casually against a beat up old Ford F-150 that was parked in front of the bookstore.

Caleb Reaves took a long draw of his cigarette, looking Sam up and down disinterestedly as he approached.

"Reaves," Sam greeted. He'd known Caleb quite well once, but they'd never been close.

"Sammy," Caleb took obvious, if subtle, pleasure in his bristle at the nickname that he tolerated from no one but Dean.

So that's how its gonna be.

“It’s Sam," he corrected firmly. Then forgoing small talk he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think I'm doing here?" there was an edge of antagonism to their interactions that Sam had forgotten about until now.

It hadn't always been that way - hadn't really been an issue at all until he was old enough to realize that Caleb wanted a lot more from Dean than simple friendship. Jealous, but not fully understanding why at the time, Sam had done whatever he could to come between Dean and the older hunter. It had worked too, as somewhere along the way the sometimes over-friendly nature of their relationship had changed to one of cool distance. Apparently Caleb had never forgiven him.

"Did Dad send you here to check up on me?" Sam asked, irked at the very thought.

"Johnny doesn't send me anywhere," Caleb sneered, "he's your daddy, not mine. He doesn't even know I'm here. Yet."

Sam quietly absorbed that one.

"You wouldn't know I was here if I didn't want you to," Caleb added arrogantly.

Sam narrowed his eyes at the tone, but recognized the truth in the words. He was beginning to understand how John kept such close tabs on Dean's life.

"You check in on him often?" Sam asked, curious as to how many other hunters did the same. Bobby? Jefferson? Joshua? Hell, any of them would have been preferable to Reaves.

"From time to time," Caleb dropped what remained of his smoke and crushed it under his heel, "when a hunt brings me this way."

Sam looked over at the gym, feeling the pull to get back to Dean. His eyes snapped back to Caleb just as it occurred to him that John likely had the same network in place for him at Stanford. That didn't sit well with him at all. The smug smile that played at the corner of Caleb's mouth told Sam that the man had followed his thought process. He didn't have time for this.

"I've gotta get back,” Sam said. He wasn't going to let Caleb get to him. He had more important things to worry about. He turned to walk away.

"This works out well for you, doesn't it?" Caleb's question held a challenge that stopped him cold.

Sam faced the hunter again, "You got something to say to me, Reaves?"

"Just an observation," Caleb replied. "You never could handle any competition for Dean's ...affection."

Sam's jaw tightened at the implication that Jenna's death suited his own purposes just fine. He refused to justify his intentions and he most certainly would not discuss his brother's dead wife with Caleb Reaves.

Despite his intention of not doing so, Sam struck back at the hunter where he knew it would do the most damage - he could manage a surprising amount of arrogance himself when he put his mind to it. "You give yourself too much credit, Reaves. You always have." Sam stepped into Caleb's personal space. "Do you honestly think you ever stood a chance against me?" Then, so there would be no mistaking his intentions, he boldly added, “Dean is mine. He always has been.”

Caleb’s eyes widened in surprise and Sam suspected it had more to do with the possessive acknowledgment of his feelings rather than the barb itself. He really didn’t care what Caleb thought. He left the hunter standing there and returned to the gym. Dean was waiting.

Sam changed quickly and tossed his clothes along with his wallet and phone into a locker before joining his brother.  Dean alternated his days at the gym between cardio and strength training. He was just hitting his stride on the rowing machine when Sam took the treadmill next to him.

"Everything okay?" Dean asked, concerned. Sam must have looked as preoccupied as he felt.

"Yeah, sure,” Sam assured him. "Everything's fine." He would never admit it, but Caleb's sudden presence had really caught him off-guard, unsettled him. He tried to shake it off but knew it wasn't working when Dean kept tossing him the occasional glance. There was a notable absence of the comfortable small-talk Sam had become accustomed to during their workouts. He was unable to bridge the gap today.

He was surprised, and so very pleased, when his brother stepped up and did it for him. "So," Dean asked, "how's the class going?"

Thirty minutes later they were doing some cool down stretches when Sam was struck with sudden inspiration. It was hit or miss how crowded the gym could be during lunch hour. Today, there were maybe half a dozen other individuals scattered about the open space and only one staff member present. Perfect. The corner they currently utilized was covered with floor mats for stretching, but Sam had another purpose in mind.

“Hey, ¨ he said to Dean out of the blue, "you...ah...up for some sparring?"

Dean paused in his stretching and looked at Sam oddly, weighing his response for a long moment before responding.

"Nah," he rolled his shoulders and neck, meeting Sam's gaze with a smirk, "this body's made for lovin' not fighting."

Sam's brows arched in surprise and he was torn between saying prove it and oh, if you only knew, bro.

"C'mon," he tried again, studying his brother speculatively. Dean had never been able to refuse a challenge. Sam hoped that intrinsic trait had survived the memory loss. He decided to up the ante. "I'll take it easy on you."

He saw the brief struggle on Dean's face and watched him check the time. He had to get back to work, but luckily Sam had timed it right. They had a few minutes to play with. Sam kept his expression friendly, but didn’t back down from the challenge. When Dean squared his chin and gave a nod of concession Sam felt a small thrill of anticipation.

They stood opposite each other in the center of the mats. Sam took a ready position and watched as Dean noticeably mirrored his stance - eyes quickly assessing the placement of Sam's hands and feet.

Sam noted that Dean's stance was slightly off, but solid, and that his center of gravity looked good. While it was clear he was looking to Sam for guidance, it was obvious that Dean's body was familiar with this particular dance. It was a good sign that the body remembered what the mind did not.

Sam started with some very slow basic moves that were easy to block and defend against. He kept a close eye on Dean's expression as a fine line of concentration appeared between his brothers brows. Dean was oblivious to the scrutiny, focusing entirely on Sam's extremities for clues as to what attacks to guard against.

Each Winchester had a personalized fighting technique all their own. Early schooling consisted of a motley mixture of various disciplines from Jiu-Jitsu, karate, judo, hapkido and incorporated traditional martial arts, as well as various forms of street fighting and hand-to-hand combat.

John had seen to it that they had the basics in as many forms as possible. He found live instructors when he could, but just as often they learned from instructional videos and books. And Sam vaguely recalled a weekend Jackie Chan marathon that Dean insisted was strictly for training purposes

Yeah, right.

Sam picked up the pace a little and let some of his kicks make contact. He was still pulling his punches, but let a few of those meet muscle as well. He was too conscious of Dean's head injury to allow any contact above the neck.

More times than he could recall growing up, Sam had been Dean's experimental sparring partner. His brother learned a new move, he had to try it out on Sam. That ended about the time Sam hit a growth spurt and Dean could no longer toss him around like a rag doll. Then the real fun began.

Sam learned to be as proficient a fighter as Dean.   He approached the activity like he did everything else - logically and methodically. His style was all cool, quiet calculation. He could and did fight when necessary, but he did not like it.

In stark contrast, Dean loved the physical aspect of fighting. His brother thrived on all forms of physical contact. Sam would never forget the first time he witnessed Dean in an all-out brawl. His brother had just turned nineteen and was hustling pool with John at a bar while Sam did his homework in the Impala. The parking lot was quiet except for the occasional couple going in or out of the bar and the bass of the jukebox that Sam had finally managed to tune out.

He'd looked up as a crowd of people came flooding out of the bar. He could tell by the cat calls and the circle that had formed that it was a fight. He didn't have to be psychic to figure out that Dean was somehow involved. The same cocky grin and arrogant swagger that got his brother into the bar without being carded were usually the same traits that got him into trouble once he was in there

Sam stepped from the Impala, wanting a front row seat, just as John grabbed his arm. “Stay back and don’t distract him.¨ His father didn’t release him until he gave a nod of agreement. He was tempted to jump onto the hood of the Impala for a better view, but all that would do is get his ass kicked when Dean got done kicking the ass of whoever had been stupid enough to challenge his brother to a fight in the first place.

Dean never fought anyone above their ability to defend themselves. It became clear very quickly that his opponent was of a similar skill level. They traded punches and kicks in a flurry of choreographed movements that left Sam (and John) in awe. Neither of them had realized until that moment just how much Dean held back when they sparred as a family. It was amazing. Watching his brother fight was like watching others dance. Dean had the deadly fluid grace of a stalking panther; was power held in check with a style as smooth as it was unpredictable.

Surprisingly, the fight had ended in a draw with a handshake and a grudging mutual respect that left the brunette on the sidelines feeling more an afterthought than the prize she started out as.

It was all still there. It had to be.

Sam blocked a strike that was a little too slow - had too much thought behind it. He countered in a move that was too quick for Dean to avoid and sent him stumbling back with more power than he'd intended.

Dean cocked his head to the side, jaw tight, breathing through his nose. Intense. Irritated that he wasn't able to gain the upper hand. They had an audience now Sam noted. So far everyone was still distractedly doing their workout, but curious gazes were upon them. Sam ignored them. Dean didn't seem to notice.

When Dean came back at him, Sam took it as a good sign. His brother was into this, but was still over-thinking it. It was time to do something about that. He stepped up the speed again and decided to incorporate moves that would be more difficult to counter. For this little experiment of his to work, Dean had to stop thinking about what he was doing.

One of the most basic, powerful and versatile kicks in any form of martial arts was the karate roundhouse kick. By age twelve, Dean had mastered the move if not the power behind it. Sam unleashed a flurry of quick punches that Dean wasn’t entirely able to block - one slipping through and catching him neatly on the chin. Sam cringed inwardly, but let it go. Dean’s eyes narrowed.

Sam moved into position, pivoting his body in preparation for the kick. Sam rotated through the move at full speed and brought his leg up, foot back, going for the strike. His goal was to catch Dean in the center of the chest. If he pulled the kick last minute, the worst it would do is knock the wind out of him.

He didn’t get a chance to find out.

Before he could connect, Dean caught his leg and brought his elbow down on the inside of Sam’s knee.

It hurt, but Sam was already twisting out of the move, something he wouldn't have been able to do if Dean were fully aware of what he'd just done. Sam registered the shock on Dean's face. He didn't give himself or Dean time to think about it. He countered with the same kick, spinning to the left instead of the right. He held nothing back this time.

Dean ducked the kick and reacted with an excellently executed lunge punch that Sam only barely managed to avoid. The move was classic Dean, quickly closing the distance between them, utilizing in-close fighting techniques to eliminate Sam's height and reach as an advantage. It was a tactic Dean learned when he finally accepted that Sam was going to outgrow him.

If Sam weren't so familiar with it, Dean could really have done some damage. Gone was the uncertain look of concentration on his brother's face. In its place was a focused intent that had Sam tightening his guard. He was pretty certain that Dean wouldn't be pulling any of his punches.

Not wanting this to get too out of control, Sam hesitated when re-examining his strategy. To those watching, the pause was so minute that it wasn't noticeable at all. To someone trained in the art of fighting - it was an opening to take advantage of.

Dean recognized the opportunity for what it was.

In the blink of an eye, Sam went from offense to defense. A succession of kicks and jabs rained down on him so fast that he too was forced to act on instinct alone. He managed to block the worst of it, but enough was enough. He'd proven his point. It was time to end this.

Upper hand firmly in place, Dean continued to push his advantage. Sam realized the only way to put a stop to the match was to take his brother down. He waited for the appropriate timing and then went for a leg sweep.

As if he'd been anticipating the move, Dean stepped into it, pivoted hip-to-hip and used Sam's own momentum to flip him to the ground. What was left of the air in Sam's lungs was expelled as Dean came down on top of him, muscled forearm settling firmly across his throat.

Sam swallowed and held perfectly still, effectively pinned beneath his brother’s weight. The moment stretched. He became aware of the background music once again. It seemed loud and out of place. Everyone in his peripheral vision was frozen - not even pretending to be otherwise occupied. Sam dismissed them all as unimportant and focused on Dean.

He could feel each warm exhalation of breath, see the flecks of gold in clear emerald eyes, as awareness slowly bled through instinct. Sam placed a calming hand on the outside of Dean's thigh, letting it curl around muscle that trembled.

Dean looked down at him, horrified. The inside of his thighs tightened against Sam’s hips as he pulled away.

He looked so legitimately unnerved and confused by his actions that Sam’s voice softened in response. “Its okay, Dean.”

Unsettled, Dean stood and backed away from him. He paused at the edge of the mat, right hand rubbing down over his face and then hovering over his mouth. Sam got up slowly, ignored those who were still gawking and focused on his brother.

“Dean,” he said calmly, moving closer.

“You,” Dean looked at him, unable to hide the tremor in his voice, “are you okay?”

“Dude, are you kidding?"  Sam down played in his best give me some credit here voice. Then, with regret, continued to push his brother. "That was great! Where did you learn to fight like that?"

Dean froze. "I..." his jaw worked but nothing came out, "I...” he tried again and Sam bit his lip at the small quiver in Dean's chin. Dean was unable to voice the answer so clearly displayed in his eyes.

I don't know.

Sam was in torment as Dean faltered. The urge to just hold him was nearly overpowering. He watched as Dean struggled to find his equilibrium, glancing at him self-consciously from beneath a sweep of ridiculously long lashes. Sam took another step forward and effectively broke the spell of uncertainty.

Dean stepped back, away from him, "I've gotta get back."

Sam understood the distancing but was hurt by it nonetheless, "Okay." Then added cautiously, "I'll see you Friday?"

Dean nodded, meeting his gaze, before heading back to the locker room. Sam let him go - let him have his space. Dropping to the mat with a sigh, he noted that everyone had gone back to their workouts but several curious gazes followed his brother. Sam slowly went through his stretches again and was just finishing when Dean came back through with his duffel.

He took it as a good sign that Dean paused on his way out. He didn't say anything, just looked at Sam. Conflicted. Self conscious. Sam stilled at the emotion his brother was unable to hide. It would be a major sign of trust if Dean opened up to him about his memory loss.

The moment was lost when the bell above the entrance softly chimed and two women, in the midst of an animated conversation, effectively put an end to the moment. One of the women paused, recognizing Dean, interest evident in every line of her body language.

"Hello, Dean."

"Nadine,” Dean’s head dipped in the barest of courtesy and he turned back to Sam. Nadine colored at the dismissal but proceeded to check Sam out in fine order as well

The distraction allowed Dean the recovery time he needed. Sam thought he saw disappointment in his brother's eyes but it was gone so quickly that he couldn't be sure.

"I've gotta..." Dean was already angling toward to door, but something in Sam's eyes had him hesitating.

"Yeah,” Sam agreed reluctantly, letting him off the hook. It's okay. Go.

Dean searched his face, and unconsciously responded to Sam's unspoken reassurance. The stiffness in his shoulders eased some, lines smoothing at the corner of his eyes.

"Friday?" See you then?

"Friday." Sam confirmed with a nod.

He watched Dean leave, stood there for a long moment before heading back to the locker room for a shower. He took his time, letting the liquid heat soak through his body. Already he could feel a bruise forming along his ribs and another high on his cheekbone, and the inside of his knee, where Dean's elbow had connected, was tender and slightly swollen.

It felt good. It was proof that the brother he knew and loved was there. Lost beneath the surface, but still there.

Sam towel-dried his hair and dressed, in no hurry to get back to his hotel room and the lesson plan for tomorrow's class. Slipping his wallet into his back pocket he picked up his cell phone and noticed he had a new text message. He frowned at the unfamiliar number and hit ‘view.’

Something’s wrong.   Caleb.

Sam stared at the phone until the import of Caleb’s words spurred him to action. He threw his workout clothes into his bag and slammed the locker shut. He stalked out of the locker room with such urgency that he nearly mowed down Nadine, who had apparently been waiting for him to emerge. Sam reached for her by reflex when she stumbled.

Startled, but smiling, she tried to introduce herself, “Hi, I’m…”

“Sorry,” Sam interrupted, brushing by her without a second thought, “I have to go.” His single-minded intensity to get to Dean left her gaping after him. Sam threw his bag into the passenger seat of his rental car and headed back to Walkers at a speed that was likely to get him in serious trouble if he crossed paths with the local police.

About three miles out from the gym, Sam’s stomach clenched with worry as he spotted the Impala on the side of the road.

Part VI