Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There is a child in his art history class.

Sam blinks. The kid is still there, looking like a miniature professor in slacks and a sweater vest. Now, Sam's not really sure what he himself is doing in an art history class (something about needing an extra general elective credit), but the sight of a maybe-ten-or-eleven-year-old sitting in the room of college students, reading the textbook, is still a bit of a shock. But the lecture is about to start, and Sam has seen weirder, so he takes the last open seat in the abnormally cramped room.

Right next to the kid.

I really gotta find a better name for him than kid.

The kid looks up as Sam sits down in the seat next to him. His gaze is apprehensive, and almost tired, as if he was preparing to explain something for the nth time. Before Sam can introduce himself, the kid cuts in, "Hello, my name is Spencer Reid. Yes, I am a student. Yes, I'm supposed to be here. No, I'm not lost." Spencer adjusts his glasses and looks back at the book in front of him.

I suppose he has to explain that a lot.

"I mean, that would make the most sense, given you're reading the textbook we need for this class," Sam holds out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Spencer. My name's Sam."

Spencer doesn't take his offered hand, but looks at him with suspicion. Not one to be deterred, Sam retracts his hand and continues, "I'm in my first year as Pre-Law. I'm really only taking this class to fill a credit, but I'm kind of excited. I've never taken an art history course before. Have you?"

Spencer, closed his book carefully, still looking down, "...I have not taken an art history course before. I'm on my first year on a BA in psychology. I thought this class would be interesting. I suppose I am also excited." Spencer's eyes flick up to Sam's, then quickly away. Spencer looks like he might say more, but the arrival of one frazzled professor cuts him off.

Oh well, they can always chat next Tuesday.

=======

Turns out they see each other before their next art history class. Sam is at the campus library, trying to write his essay. Sam doesn't dislike his roommate, but he certainly doesn't appreciate their dorm being the party room for his roommate's friends. If Sam is being honest with himself, he would admit he'd probably study in the library even if his dorm room was quiet. He grew up doing his homework and spending his free time in various public libraries when he wasn't confined to whatever crappy motel they were holed up at. 

He remembers Dean walking him to the library after school and helping him with his math homework, and in later years, Dean dropping him off at the local library so he wouldn't be bored while Dean helped their dad with a hunt. Sam still remembers the first time Dean had to leave him alone to go hunt: Sam was five years old and had just lost his first tooth the week prior. Dean squeezed his shoulder tight and promised to be back soon, "Don't worry Sammy, Dad and I'll be back before ya know it!" Dean came back two hours later with a deep scratch on his cheek and a slight limp, but still smiled when he saw his brother. Sam cried quietly that night in bed.

A frustrated sigh jerks Sam out of his memories.

About twenty feet away from the table he's camped out at, familiar sweater vest catches his eye. Spencer is up on his tippy-toes, reaching for a book on the top shelf, but only able to brush at it with his fingertips. Spencer is getting increasingly frustrated, muttering something about stupid design and national average height and looks about ready to climb up the bookshelf, so Sam stands up and make his way over.

Spencer doesn't seem to notice Sam's approach from the side (a failing his dad would have screamed at him for when he was Spencer's age), and jumps about five feet in the air when Sam's hand closes around the book and pulls it off the shelf. Sam holds out the book - some calculus textbook- to Spencer, "Is this the book you needed?"

Spencer nods and hesitantly accepts the book, slowly reaching out and grasping it as if he thinks Sam is going to snatch it away. Sam holds still. "Thanks... Sam, right?" Sam nods. "What brings you to the library tonight?"

"Loud roommate. I needed to get some homework done." Sam gestured toward the table and the mess of books and papers spilling across it. "How about yourself? What brings you to the library at-" Sam glances at a clock on the wall, "-9 p.m. on a Friday night?"

Spencer holds up the book that began this interaction, "I was looking for my copy of my calculus textbook, but I couldn't find it, so I came to read the library's copy." He pauses, looking up at Sam, "I should be able to finish with it pretty quickly. I have eidetic memory and I can read 20,000 words per minute."

Sam's eyebrows shoot up. So, the kid's a genius? No wonder he's at college so young. Sam catches the look on Spencer's face - anticipation. His shoulders turned slightly away. He probably expects me not to believe him. I mean, it's pretty crazy, but he was whipping right through that art history textbook on Tuesday. Sam wants to change the subject: he suspects that Spencer is expecting him to want to talk about that revelation, but also that Spencer himself doesn't really want to talk about it.

"What's the best book you've ever read?" Spencer clearly wasn't expecting that question. He opens his mouth and stops, eyebrows pushing together. 

"Ummm... I'm a fan of Arthurian legend?" 

Sam smiles. "My older brother used to read those to me when I was little! I don't remember them all so well, though, on account of it being so long ago, and I think he actually made some of those stories up, so I'm not sure how much Arthurian legend I actually know." Sam's smile dims. He left the hunting life. He doesn't miss it. But he still misses his brother.

Spencer fidgets for a moment, twisting the strap of his comically large messenger bag, and clears his throat. "My mom is a... retired English professor. She likes to read to me sometimes. She says that being read to is the best way to take a book." Spencer's hands jerk to life and he unzips his bag, "Hold on, I think-aha!" Spencer pulls a out small book and holds it out to Sam.

The book has a picture of a stylized knight in a stained glass window on the front cover. The well loved dust jacket crinkles as Sam takes it from Spencer's outstretched hand.

"It isn't ALL the stories or anything, but you might recognize some of them?"

"Wanna come sit with me? You can read your textbook, and I can look this over?" Sam gestures back to his table.

Spencer hesitates, but he gets a look in his eye that Sam can only describe as hopeful, and nods.

=======

"I can't believe the Green Knight guy was real! I thought my brother made that one up."

Spencer startles, looking up from where he was getting through the textbook at a remarkable speed. "Yeah, I always thought that one was a weird story."

Sam gently set the little book down on the table. "I had never heard of the Fisher King. That one was creepy." Sam checks the time, "Oh shit! The library closes in five!" Sam feels a bit bad for cursing in front of Spencer, until Spencer curses in kind.

"Fuck!" Spencer hurriedly begins packing up, shoving his King Arthur book in his bag and zipping it shut. He hesitates with the Calculus book, looking between it and Sam. "This is a reference book, so I can't check it out. Could you...?"

Sam finishes packing up and grabs the textbook, walking over to the shelf it came from and sliding it back in place.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

The two make their way to the exit in comfortable silence. As they step out into the dark street, Sam turns to Spencer "Good night, Spencer, See you Tuesday?"

Spencer smiles, looking more relaxed than he has all night, "Until then. Good night, Sam!"

Chapter Text

Spencer doesn't know what to make of Sam.

The first thing Spencer thought when he saw the man was Holy hell, that guy's tall. He expected Sam to comment on his age or simply ignore him, but Sam seemed more interested in introducing himself than asking why there was a twelve-year-old in his class. Odd. The whole interaction, only lasting around two minutes, was more like how he had seen his classmates taking to each other than like anything said to him before.

And again at the library. Spencer was tired and frustrated, having lost his textbook, been mistaken for a professor's kid, and adjusting to sleeping in a dorm room. Then he couldn't reach the stupid textbook. He was at the end of his rope, and considering finding a corner to cry in, when Sam appeared at his side like a ninja and handed him the book.

But Sam wasn't babying him. He was friendly, but in a way someone would be to a peer, not like he was talking to some kid he met. It was refreshing, honestly. All week, people have avoided him, with the occasional Hey buddy, are your parents around? Talking to Sam was nice, even if they don't see each other so often. As the weeks go by, Spencer sits next to Sam every Tuesday in their art history class, and whenever they spot each other in the library. They weren't close, but they did chat about literature, and Sam once taught Spencer how to play flick football with a spare sheet of graph paper when their professor was running late. It was nice.

=======

It isn't until mid semester that anything supernatural happens.

The sun is just rising, and Spencer is at the edge of the quad, trying to find and catch three different insects for an extra credit assignment before the crowds show up. He doesn't know what his abnormal psychology professor needs bugs for, but extra credit is extra credit, whether he needs it or not. So far, he's caught a roly-poly and a pathetic looking ant. he can hear a cricket chirping nearby.

There, next to that paving stone.

Spencer creeps up carefully, a glass mason jar in one hand, its lid in the other. An ice-cold breeze brushes his neck. Wasn't it warmer a second ago? Spencer crouches down. He has to be quick if he wants to capture the bug before it jumps away. 

He slams the jar down - with more force than necessary, but the jar doesn't break. Spencer grins. This beats a group project any day! He isn't particularly interested in insects, but it's preferable to trying to work with unmotivated classmates. I wonder if Sam would want to hear about this? I could tell him before class today. Would that be considered oversharing? I don't wan-

That train of thought is cut off as something cold clamps down on Spencer's shoulder. What the- Spencer's world tilts as he finds himself flung backwards, slamming into the dewy grass on his elbow, rolling twice and coming to a stop, still clutching the cricket jar, for some reason. He gasps into the air above him. What on earth could have thrown him like that???

Spencer hauls himself into a sitting position, still gasping, and looks around. There's no one here. All he can see are brick buildings, grass, and a couple joggers, a stray cat sleeping under a lamppost. Nothing and nobody that could have thrown him ten feet across the field! Is he hallucinating? Dreaming? Fucking schizophrenic?! The air behind him is freezing.

Spencer whips around, throwing himself away from the chill.

There! That must be what threw him! But... what is that?

Looming above Spencer is what looks like a horror movie zombie. The flesh on the figure's face looked shrink-wrapped straight to the skull, red, blistering, and stretched tight, eyes missing, leaving uneven caverns in the sockets. It's jaw was fixed open, the lips peeled back too far from the teeth. The apparition could maybe be described as male, with a singed lab coat and dark pants.

Spencer moved before the man could, stumbling into a sprint, fleeing blindly toward the nearest brick building.

=======

Sam isn't expecting to see anyone on his early morning run. He wakes up earlier than most college students would even think about being up, so he doesn't tend to see much, just the peaceful, sleeping campus and the occasional pigeon. 

Sam breathes in the cool scent of dewy grass, turning a corner to run along the path that runs the length of the central quad, feeling a pleasant burn in his calves. He's excited for today. It's Tuesday, so he gets to see Spencer at art history class! Sam is a little disappointed to admit, but even after two months at college, his closest companion is a twelve (soon to be thirteen)-year-old kid. This isn't anything like the movies, most of his peers don't even want to talk to the weirdo who showed up on move-in day with one box of clothes and a liter of holy water. 

Oh well, Sam had one friend. One wicked smart, sharp-witted friend... who was sprinting right toward him.

"Spencer! what's ha-oof!" Spencer, eyes squeezed shut, ran full speed into Sam, nearly knocking him fully over. Sam grabbed his arms, steadying him. Spencer was breathing too fast.

"Spencer, what happened?!" Spencer's eyes shoot open and his head swivels back to the direction he came from. Sam followed his stare, but all he saw was an empty field. He looked back to his friend. No, he is REALLY breathing too fast. "Hey, Spence, I need you to take a deep breath for me, bud. You're hyperventilating." 

"Sam!" Spencer gasps, clutching the front of Sam's hoodie. "Did you-I mean, t-there was." Spencer's breathing picks up in speed.

Okay, panic attack. I can do this. What could possibly go wrong?!!

"Come on, you can do it! Deep breath, follow mine." Sam pulls the shaking kid closer to himself, almost a hug, so Spencer can feel his lungs expand and deflate. After a few minutes, Spencer, while still shaky, doesn't seem to be in danger of passing out, so Sam pulls away a little. He's still holding Spencer's upper arms, and Spencer still has a death grip on Sam's hoodie, but their bodies aren't pressed together anymore, so Sam can look Spencer in the face. Spencer's eyes are blown wide with tears gathered in the corners. His glasses sit crooked on his face. His hair, usually tucked neatly behind his ears, looks like he just woke up from napping in the grass, messy with little green blades sticking out in a few places. He is just a kid, regardless of how brilliant and independent he is.

"Spencer, can you tell me what happened? What's got you upset?" Spencer blinks at him, then looks down, as if gathering his thoughts. He pulls away from Sam, brushing off his shirt, and readjusting his glasses.

"I-I thought I saw... but, that doesn't make any sense! It was right behind me, I... I think I'm losing my mind, Sam." Spencer sniffles, hunching his shoulders. "What I saw, it just can't be right! You'll think I'm crazy, or lying or something. Forget about it." Tears are pouring down Spencer's face now, which breaks Sam's heart a little. Spencer looks like he wants to run away again, and Sam can't let that happen.

He steps forward and sets his hands on Spencer's much smaller shoulders. "Spencer, I don't know what you saw out there, but it's clearly pretty serious if it managed to scare you, so please tell me what you saw." Spencer's bottom lip trembles, but he furrows his brow and nods.

=======

As Spencer tells his story, he looks at Sam, and quickly back down at his lap. Sam's eyebrows are drawn together and he's making direct eye contact with Spencer. By all means, Sam appears to be genuinely listening to Spencer. But what if he thinks I'm crazy? Or making it up? If Sam laughs at him now, Spencer is definitely going to cry again.

"You said the guy felt cold?" Sam prompts.

"Y-Yeah. It felt like ice." Spencer bites his lip. Might as well get it over with. "... do you think I'm crazy?" he almost whispered.

Sam jerks back a little in surprise, "Of course not! No, Spencer. In fact..." Sam looks pained. "I think I might know what it was and how to handle it, but... I'll need to make a call."

Chapter Text

Theoretically, Sam could hunt down the ghost himself. Based on Spencer's description, this is nothing more than a restless spirit, a simple salt and burn. Quite frankly, this can be done in hour or two even if he works by himself. But Sam has no idea where to buy a shovel and twenty pounds of rock salt on his college campus, and if there's one thing his brother drilled into his head growing up, it was Never Hunt Solo. That's how you end up dead or behind bars.

Sam looks down at his phone, where he has Dean's contact pulled up. How's this gonna go? He hasn't talked to Dean since the night he left for Stanford. Dean would probably laugh at him and just hand the phone to Dad. Maybe if he catches Dean alone? Dean would never ditch like Sam did, he follows Dad like a soldier to battle. But still, what if something goes wrong? He doesn't want to traumatize Spencer further by dying at the hands of a ghost. Before Sam can lose his nerve, he hits call.

The phone rings twice before Dean answers. "Sammy?"

"Hey Dean, it's been a while."

"...yeah." Sam can hear Dean hesitate, clearing his throat. "What's going on?"

It's Sam's turn to hesitate now, "Is Dad around?" Better to find out now.

"Nah, just me. You need 'im?" Good. He can work with that.

"No. I actually wanted to ask you a favor." He pauses, but when Dean doesn't say anything, he continues. "Could you join me on a hunt? There seems to be a ghost on campus." Sam holds his breath, waiting for Dean's reaction.

"I'll be there in three hours."

=======

Spencer has never seen Sam like this. Twitchy. Nervous. By this time, they have collected Spencer's scattered bag and jars of insects and migrated to the library, where the librarians are only just unlocking the doors for the day. He waited at a table in the corner of the room as Sam made his phone call out among the bookshelves, and now he sees the man returning, wearing an apprehensive but determined look.

"Spencer, there's something you need to know." Sam sits down across from him. "What you saw out on the quad this morning, it was a ghost."

He cannot be serious. Spencer stands up. "If you think I'm crazy, you could've just said that, instead of trying to fuck with me." Spencer tries to turn away, but Sam grabs his wrist and tugs him gently back.

"I know it's hard to believe, but I'm telling thee truth! I've seen ghosts before, Spencer. I've felt the temperature change when they're close. Hell, I've been thrown threw a stained glass window by one! I'm not fucking with you, I just want to help!" Sam isn't yelling, but his words are forceful. "I gave you the benefit of the doubt, please just hear me out." Sam releases his wrist, and looks at him, waiting. Spencer huffs, but sits back down. Ghosts don't exist, but Sam has been his friend, and took time from his morning to calm Spencer down, so he supposes he should stay. Spencer sits back down.

"Thank you. I know I sound crazy, but I have been up close and personal with the supernatural since I was younger than you."

=======

Two hours later, Spencer looks at least open to the existence of ghosts, if not fully believing. He is asking questions here and there, and is willing to look into possible identities for the campus ghost. The best part, in Sam's opinion, is that he no longer has the betrayed expression he had when he thought Sam was lying to him.

"So, who did you call?" Sam startles. He forgot all about that!

"My brother. He's a full time hunter, so he'll already have everything we need to get rid of this ghost." Sam twists around to look at the clock on the wall behind him. "Shit, he should be here pretty soon. No longer than an hour."

"Where's he coming from?" A fair question, but Sam has no idea whatsoever.

"I'm not really sure. I don't know where his latest hunt was. He just gave me an ETA and hung up... We haven't really spoken since I left for college." Spencer seems troubled to hear this.

"But you still trust him to help you with your 'hunt'?"

"I do." He does. Even during their worst fights, there is no one Sam would trust more to keep him alive.

Spencer nods. "Let's try to figure out who the ghost was before he gets here." He stands up and makes his way toward the library computers. "I look forward to meeting him," he adds.

oh no.

=======

Dean was tired of solo hunts. After Sam left, he hasn't seen hide nor hair of his Dad, only getting coordinates for hunts over text. He honestly never expected his brother to reach out to him. Now he was pulling up outside Sam's university's library at Sam's invitation. 

He shoots Sam a text to let him know he's here and gets out, leaning against the Impala and watching the front entrance. 

Honestly, he shoulda guessed it'd be hunting that made the kid call him. Their lives are just too riddled with supernatural danger to allow for a casual family reunion. I'm just glad he's not tryna hunt by himself. Dean knows how capable a hunter Sam is, but he also knows hunting is dangerous. He's known that since he was four years old. If there was one thing he wanted his baby brother to do when confronted with that kinda danger, it was to find him. So as soon as Sammy was old enough to understand, Dean made sure he knew how dangerous it is to go alone.

It's a good thing that lesson stuck.

The door of the library opens, and there he is. His little brother. Sam waves him over.

"Miss me, Sammy?" Sam rolls his eyes at Dean's grin.

"It's Sam."

"Sure. So, a ghost? Lemme guess: the spirit of a frat guy who died of alcohol poisoning, back from beyond the grave to haunt the chemistry lab?"

"Actually, you're not too far off with the chemistry part. I looked into it, and there was a report of a lab fire last year, with one casualty: Dr. Leland Hooper, Organic Chemistry professor. Based on what I've heard, the ghost's face looked burned, almost melted. I can show you the coroner's report inside." Dean moves to enter the library, but Sam places a hand on his chest, looking at him in concentration. "before you go in there, I have to warn you. My classmate is the one who actually saw the ghost. I've known him since the start of the year and I trust his account of what happened, but he didn't believe in the supernatural before today, so he's rattled and still skeptical."

Dean nods. He has plenty of experience talking with witnesses. Why is Sam so worked up over his classmate?

"And... Spencer's twelve."

Chapter Text

Now that he's looking for it, Spencer can see how Sam carries himself like he's prepared for an attack. Not scared or jumpy, but ready and waiting. Sam scans any room he walks into as if checking for enemies, never sits with his back to a door, assesses anyone who talks to him like they could be armed. Sam and the man walking in behind him are two peas in a pod in that regard. Sam walks with purpose toward Spencer, glancing around shelves as he passes. His brother walks behind, letting Sam lead the way through the unfamiliar room while regularly looking over his shoulder, watching their six. He can see the family resemblance.

"Spencer, this is Dean, my brother. Dean, this is my friend, Spencer."

Dean thumps down into the seat across from him, smirking like he's about to tell a joke. "Always good to meet one of Sammy's friends! So, Spencer, are you more of a 'bad influence' type of friend, or are you keeping my baby brother on the straight and narrow? 'Cause I gotta tell you, this giant over here was a menace as a kid. Shoot, I mean full teenage rebellion." Dean chuckles.

Spencer stares. Based on first impressions, Sam and Dean are polar opposites. When he first met him, Sam seemed almost shy, his dry sense of humor only making an appearance a few weeks into their friendship. And Dean? The guy looks like a model, dresses like a biker, and talks like he's ready to talk his way out of a speeding ticket. The word charismatic comes to mind.

Dean isn't put off when Spencer doesn't respond, getting down to the real reason for Dean's visit. "Well, there'll be time for chit-chat later." Dean folds his hands in front of him on the table. "Sammy tells me you met one Leland Hooper this morning. How 'bout you tell me a little about it? It's always nice to hear the firsthand account of things." Dean watches him expectantly. Sam nods at him in encouragement from where he was standing behind Dean.

Here goes nothing.

=======

Where did Sammy find this kid?? 

Spencer has gotta be the love child of Albert Einstein and Aristotle or something, 'cause Dean knows for a fact he didn't know half this kid's vocabulary when he was twelve. Seriously, what kid can confidently summarize a coroner's report? Especially with all those long chemical names, damn. What even is 3-chloro-2-phenylpropanoic acid, and why does Spencer know what it is? He should've known his nerd little brother would find little nerd friends.

The nerd brother himself looks up from a map Dean dug out of his trunk. "The cemetery where he's buried, Holy Cross Cemetery, is only about one and a half miles from here. We can drive there a few hours after dark and salt and burn the corpses. Do we have everything we need?"

Dean lets out a thoughtful breath. "I think I might need to restock on rock salt. I used most of it two weeks back when I was dealing with a particularly nasty acheri, and I haven't had the time to restock. I passed by a hardware store about six miles out, so it shouldn't be too hard to get some. Y'all wanna tag along, or are you stuck in class?" If Dean is craving a little company and hoping they'd come, that's between him and his '67 Chevvy Impala.

Sam looks panicked at Dean's question. His eyes widen and he spins in his seat to look at a clock mounted to the wall behind him. "Shit!" Sam turns to look at Spencer, who is only just now looking up from the book he was reading at lightning speed. "We completely forgot our art history class! It started forty-five minutes ago."

Spencer doesn't look nearly as worried. "Eh. Professor Wattana never takes attendance anyway, and her lectures are straight out of the textbook. The only reason I've still been going is to hang out with you." Spencer freezes and looks down, blushing. Clearly, he didn't mean to let that thought slip. Adorable

Sam smiles softly. "That's good to know, Spence." Then, remembering Dean's there, he clears his throat. "I have a social sciences class at four, but I'll email my professor and let him know I can't make it today. You got anything later today?"

Spencer shakes his head and looks up at Dean with those huge baby cow eyes he's got going on. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to come with you. If the supernatural is real, I want to know more about it."

Well, if that ain't just the cutest thing. "Sure, kid. Let's pack up here and we can head out."

=======

Sam was a bit worried about introducing the two. Spencer is slow to trust, and Dean can be a bit dense when it comes to fragile emotions. But Spencer seems fascinated with Dean - maybe Sam made hunting sound a little too cool, and Dean looks perfectly content to answer questions and tell stories to the wide-eyed preteen. 

By the time they're loading fifty pounds of rock salt into the trunk of the Impala, Spencer is listening to Dean tell the story of his first hunt with dad and Sam is thoroughly done listening to Dean talk.

"What was the last thing you hunted?" Is Spencer's innocent question.

"Umm, a kelpie. Y'know, fugly fish horses that drown people." Sam snorted at that.

"Bet Dad was pissy the whole time. You know how he hates dealing with water spirits." Sam recalls a very irritated John Winchester telling him and Dean not to get water on his seats in the wake of a rusalka attack.

"Ah. Well, you see, dear old dad wasn't actually with me." Dean hesitates, frowning. "I haven't actually seen him since... the night you left for college." Is he serious? All those lectures? All the times he said never hunt solo, Sammy. What, does he think he's invincible?

"What happened to 'Never Hunt Solo'? Too good to follow your own rules?" Sam is truly angry at this point, crossing his arms and glaring at his brother. "Or do you just think I'm a bad hunter and you can't trust me to hunt by myself?"

"Jeez, Sam! I didn't have much of a choice. I didn't ask to go it alone, I just woke up in an empty motel room and coordinates for a hunt." Sam freezes. All his anger is collapsing in on itself, leaving cold horror in the empty space it creates.

"What? But- you always, I mean-why?!" Sam takes a breath, trying to collect himself. Now that he knows what Dean's been dealing with, he can see the weariness clinging to Dean, in the hollow of his cheek and the curve of his shoulders. "Why would he ditch you like that? Have you at least been in touch with Bobby, or Pastor Jim? Have you seen anyone you trust in the past few months?"

Dean just grits his teeth and turns away. "Drop it, Sammy. If you wanna know his reasoning so bad, you can call Dad. For now, let's get lunch. I'm gonna need some pie if I have to dig up a grave tonight. You know any good spots, Little Einstein?" Dean brushes off any last trace of emotion, turning to Spencer, reminding Sam that their conversation isn't exactly private right now.

Spencer, still rather shocked at the interaction between the two brothers, stammers out a suggestion. Dean nods and jerks his head toward the car.

"Get in, you two."

Chapter Text

"You should stay here. Bringing you to the cemetery could be dangerous."

He just wants to learn! It's not like Spencer's planning on fist fighting the ghost. "You said, not five minutes ago that this was the easiest hunt you've seen in years! I want to see how it's done." And if Spencer is wanting as little more concrete evidence, he's keeping that to himself.

Dean looks troubled. "Spencer, it's not that I don't think you could learn. I mean, now that you know of the supernatural, it would be good for you to get some theoretical knowledge on it, but the hunting itself has a few more... hazards."

"For one," Sam started, "We're desecrating a grave. The police are quite likely to turn up." Spencer scoffs. He knows how to play into the 'innocent child' act around cops.

"Oh please, I grew up in Vegas. I know my way around cops." Dean smiles a little at that, but he's not convinced yet.

"Look, kid, I know you're capable and capital 'S' smart, but you are still a kid." Spencer huffs, but Dean continues. "I just don't feel right bringing a kid with us, 'specially because your parents aren't here to tell you know themselves." Spencer glares at that. I mean, that tracks. A minor you just met wants to come commit a crime with you? Call his parents! Logically, he knows Dean is right, but he doesn't have to like it.

"My parents don't need to know. My mom's in a mental facility. My dad technically has custody, but he doesn't give a flying fuck what I do, and I haven't seen him in months." Dean shoots a panicked look at Sam and then looks back to Spencer. His eyebrows furrow. He doesn't say anything, just stares sadly.

"And there's no guarantee I'll be safer here. I mean, the original appearance was on the quad! What if the ghost comes back and gets me?" Spencer holds up his arm to show the two the bruise on his elbow from when the ghost threw him onto the ground. 

"Hey Dean, can I talk to you for a second?" Sam pulls Dean a few paces away. Spencer strains his ears, but he can only make out a few phrases like don't want to leave him alone and safe. The pair returns.

"You win, kid," Dean sighs. "Do you have anything practical for hunting in your wardrobe, or do you always dress like my 10th grade chemistry teacher?"

=======

Spencer comes out wearing a Stanford University t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Not perfect, but it will do in a pinch. Spencer is practically bouncing in excitement in the back of the Impala. Dean still isn't sure bringing the kid along is the right call, but Sam was right: Dean doesn't want the kid to be alone. Spencer was right too. They don't know when, where, or if the ghost will attack again. The last thing he needs is to finish the salt and burn only to find out the ghost killed Spencer in their absence.

Dean is still worrying about what Spencer said earlier. A mentally unstable mom and a neglectful dad? Dean hasn't had a mom since he was four, but he could understand the ache of a missing mother. And the dads? Sure, he saw his dad all the time growing up, but then there were the long stretches of look out for Sammy and all the times Dean would hide his tears so his baby brother wouldn't know they were running out of food. Spencer was left to fend for himself too.

They set out at eleven thirty. The cemetery is blissfully empty when they arrive. The grave is easy enough to locate and Dean begins digging while Sam keeps watch with a rock salt filled shotgun. Spencer watches with Sam, occasionally glancing back to Dean. About halfway down, shit hits the fan.

=======

Sam hasn't held a firearm in over two months, but the shotgun fits in his hands like a treasured childhood toy might. All the nights spent hunting, the days spent training. Everything was washing over him like a summer rainstorm. If Spencer wasn't there, it would feel like he never left for college.

He sees Spencer tense before he sees the ghost. Following his line of sight, and yep, that's a ghost. No wonder Spencer was so freaked out. That is one hideous monster - fugly, as Dean would say. Sam shoots his salt round and looks back. Dean is only about halfway done digging.

Sam is jolted out of his thoughts by a high-pitches shriek. The ghost rematerialized sooner than anticipated and has its hand on Spencer's shoulder. Sam swings his gun toward the ghostly bastard, but he's too late. Spencer is flying away from Sam, straight into a headstone. Ouch. "Spence!" Sam shoots at the burned apparition, "Can you stand? I need you to get closer." Dean lets out a triumphant shout as his shovel hits wood.

Spencer doesn't get up right away, rolling onto his front and crawling back to Sam. A cold hand grabs Sam's wrist.

"Sam!" Spencer's cry goes unanswered. Sam can only listen as the world flips upside down, his shotgun wrenched out if his hands. Suddenly, Sam is on the ground with no air in his lungs, the ghost looming overhead. This an embarrassing way to die. Sam has survived countless ghosts, werewolves, sidhe, and a host of other terrors, and this is what gets him? A well cooked ghost?? He hears a gunshot. The ghost disappears, and there stands Spencer, clutching Sam's dropped gun.

"Nice work, Spence!" He doesn't have time to say anything else before he hears the click of a lighter. He can feel the warmth of the corpse on his back. It would be a rather nice sensation if he didn't know what is burning.

"Alright! Time for congratulations later. We gotta get out of this place before it's crawling with cops." Dean grabs the salt and gas can, Sam takes the shovel, and Spencer carries the shotgun as the trio trudges back to the parking lot.

As they pull away, Sam can see flashing red and blue lights a ways off.

Chapter Text

Sam and Spencer sit in the impala, parked in front of The Spades Motel, a seedy looking digs about eleven miles from the cemetery. Sam feels alright. Getting thrown onto the ground isn't fun, but what part of hunting was fun, really? Besides, he survived the encounter with only a few bruises on his back where he hit the ground. He isn't even bleeding. That's a win in Sam's books. Honestly, the whole hunt went altogether too well...

He hears a sniffle from the back seat.

"Spencer? What's wrong?" Spencer has his face in his hands, hunched over and trembling. Sam remembers the first hunt he was ever allowed on: a kelpie. He had been training for years, but Dean still made him keep close as they wandered the river bank. When the kelpie appeared, it locked its empty, reflective eyes on the two boys and started forward, not rushing, but persistent and inescapable. Sam held onto his brother's shirt so hard he nearly ripped it, but Dean stood firm, shifting himself in front of Sam, and shot the thing full of silver. Sam didn't cry that night, but he also didn't sleep.

"I'm sorry, I-" Spencer sobs, "I do-n'. I can't." Spencer can't finish, curling himself up tighter. Sam is out of the passenger seat and wrenching open Spencer's door before he can think about it. He kneels in front of the crying boy, hands hovering over Spencer, unsure of what to do.

"Hey, Spence, you're okay. The ghost can't hurt you here. You're safe. You're gonna be okay, buddy." Sam sets his hand down on Spencer's shoulder, gently rubbing his goosebump covered skin through his t-shirt. So the shivering isn't only from fear. Sam reaches over the front seat, grabbing Dean's leather jacket from where he left it when he went inside, and wraps the jacket around Spencer's shaking shoulders. He draws Spencer close, so the kid's forehead rests on his collarbone, and Spencer reaches out to clutch at Sam's flannel. 

He's so small. What were we thinking?! Bringing him to a haunted graveyard?!!! 

"I got you, Spence. I'll protect you." Where are these words coming from? He suddenly recalls Dean telling him something very similar when they first saw the kelpie. Spencer isn't his brother, but if his worst nightmare were to appear next to the Impala, Sam knows he would keep himself between it and this little boy. The nightmare doesn't appear, but Dean does. Dean takes in their embrace without a word, grabbing his bag out of the trunk and Sam's phone from his seat. He slides a key into Sam's pocket and walks toward their room.

"Hey, Spence. D'you wanna go inside? You took a pretty hard fall tonight. I'd like to check you out, make sure you're okay." Spencer peels his face off Sam's front, leaving an impressive wet patch of snot and tears on his shirt. Spencer rubs at his eyes and refuses to look at Sam.

"I'm sorry," Spencer sighs. "I know I don't have anything to cry about. I just-" He hiccups, "I guess I just finished being scared, and the ghost is gone, but then I couldn't breathe, and then I couldn't stop crying. I'm sorry." Spencer is wringing his hands in front of him, still not making eye contact with Sam.

"Spence, you don't have anything to apologize for. You were great out there!" Spencer hunches further down, unbelieving. That won't do. Sam lowers himself to look Spencer in the face. "I wasn't half that brave on my first hunt. Trust me, Spence, you did amazing. I'm so proud of you."

Spencer sniffles again, but nods. Sam stands up and holds a hand out to him. When Spencer is out, Sam shuts the door and guides them to room 16, their room, according to the number on the key Dean gave him.

=======

Before Spencer knows it, he is sitting on a bed with Sam at his side and Dean in front of him with a beat-up first aid kit. His head hurts a little from crying and his ribs hurt from hitting the headstone. He still feels shaky, but he doesn't feel the overwhelming, choking panic anymore. This is more of a wrung out kind of shiver. He's a little embarrassed for crying in front of his friends, but he feels a lot better after what Sam said.

"Shirt off, Brainiac. I saw you hit that gravestone." Dean looks at him in expectation. Spencer lifts up the bottom of his shirt, not taking it off, but allowing access to his abdomen. There are purple and red bruises splashes across the right side of his ribs. Sam hisses sympathetically. Dean whistles in astonishment, and begins to feel along his bruise.

"Ow!" Spencer flinches back when Dean begins to prod in earnest. 

"Sorry, kiddo. Gotta make sure nothing's broken." Spencer holds his breath as Dean finishes his examination. "Nothing a little ice and rest can't fix," Dean concludes, tugging Spencer's shirt back down. Good. hospitals suck anyway, wouldn't want to need to go. "You two knuckleheads wait here, I'll see if there's an ice machine in this digs." Dean pats Spencer on the head, ruffling his hair a little, before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.

Sam is still pressed right up next to him, a warm, comforting presence. Even though the day was a complete whirlwind, starting when he first got chucked across a field. His world view was thoroughly flipped. He thought he knew so much. His whole life, he dismissed the supernatural as a hoax, or as stories for children. Spencer can't remember the last time he felt this much like a child. He's supposed to be the genius, the prodigy, but before this morning, there was a whole world hidden from him. But Sam is still next to him. Sam, who found him that morning and believed his insane story and called for help. Sam, who shot a ghost to protect him. Sam, who held him in his arms, like something precious, as he cried. Sam, who promised him you're safe and you're gonna be okay, buddy. If that is what it feels like to be a little kid, maybe Spencer doesn't mind too much.

"...Thank you, Sam." Spencer turns toward him. "Thank you for believing me... helping me." Spencer really hopes his tears don't make another appearance, but they don't feel too far away.

Sam curls his arm around Spencer's shoulders, "You don't need to thank me for that, Spence. It was just the right thing to do." Sam sighs deeply. "I'm just glad Dean was close by. This hunt coulda gone a whole lot different if he didn't come." Spencer frowns.

"Did you not think he would show up?" Sam looks at him, a bit uncertain.

"Well... I trust Dean with my life. Have since forever. It's not that I didn't think he'd have my back, it's just..." Sam chews on his lip, looking sad and almost guilty. "When I left for college, I really hurt him. I know he would never tell me that, but I can see it. When I called him today, I could hear it in his voice. He was just so surprised, like he never expected to see me again." Sam swallows roughly, clearly holding back tears of his own. "I wanted to go to college. I needed to leave hunting. But I never wanted to leave my brother." A tear rolls down his cheek.

"Sam, you should tell him that." Sam looks up in surprise. "If you want to keep in touch with him, if you want to see him, you have to put in effort. I can't speak to Dean's inner thoughts and feelings, but you two are like Batman and Robin, with how well you work together. I saw Dean when you got flipped upside down at the graveyard. He looked terrified. He doesn't wanna lose you either." Sam nods, wiping at his tears with the hand not still on Spencer's shoulder.

"You're right." Sam looks up at the ceiling. "I don't want to lose my brother. I was trying to keep my family and college separate, but look. You and Dean get along like dry grass and fire, and I'm glad I don't have to keep secrets from my best friend anymore." Spencer feels like someone has gone inside his chest and wrapped his heart in an almost-too-tight ace bandage. 

"I've never had a best friend before," he confides. "I was always the weird kid that other kids didn't wanna talk to and adults were a little creeped out by. But I think, yeah. You're my best friend too." His face is probably a bit red, but he can't stop smiling.

=======

Dean is stalling on purpose. He doesn't want to bring the ice back to the room, because after he gets all the bumps and bruises of the night sorted, Sam and Spencer will want to go back to their dorms. He'll drive them, of course he will. But then he'll be alone again, off to whatever coordinates Dad sends him next. I am pathetic. I shouldn't need someone to hold my hand like a damn baby! He saw his baby brother for less than 24 hours and it's like he can't function anymore. A real hunter would have dropped them off at Stanford and left... Dan would have, at least. He shouldn't want to get on his knees and beg please don't leave me again like some sort of lovesick damsel.

He shakes himself, preparing to face his own disappointment in the form of two dedicated students, and opens the door. He isn't expecting Sam to stand up from where he was sitting next to Spencer, cross the room, and throw his arms around Dean, nearly knocking the ice out of his hands. He looks at Spencer in confusion, but Spencer only smiles at him. 

Sam sniffles. "Dean, can I talk to you real quick?" 

Bewildered, Dean can only agree, "Sure, Sammy. Are you okay? You take a knock to the skull I didn't catch?" Dean puts his hand to the back of Sam's head, feeling for a bump. What happened to make his brother react like this?!

Sam quickly grabs the ice out of Dean's hands, making short work of laying Spencer down and applying the ice, now wrapped in an old Metallica t-shirt, on Spencer's ribs. He turns back to Dean, dragging him out of the door by his shirtsleeve. What's got him so worked up? 

"What's happening, Sam? Do you actually have a concussion? 'Cause y-" Sam cuts him off, grabbing him by the wrists. His brother's eyes are shining with tears. 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Dean." Not at all what Dean was expecting to hear. "I wanted to leave hunting behind, but I never, ever wanted you to think I wanted to leave you behind." Tears are running down Sam's face and Sam makes no move to wipe them away. Dean can only stare. "I still want to see you! I'm so sorry if I made you think I hated you." Dean doesn't believe in God. But is this the answer to his prayers? His useless pleas to the empty passenger seat?

Dean pulls Sam toward himself, squeezing him tight, like he did when they were kids and Sam woke up crying from a nightmare. "Sammy..." Dean hopes Sam can't tell he's fighting tears. "I know." Dean holds him tighter. "I forgive you... and I'm sorry too," Dean whispers. It just felt too delicate to say out loud. Sam sobs harder, holding on like a drowning man clinging to a lifeboat. "I got you, Sammy. You're okay."

=======

By the time the two brothers stumble back into the room, Spencer is fast asleep, snoring softly into the pillow. Dean gently takes the ice off him. "Only a few hours 'til sunrise. No point going back now." 

Sam smiles. "I'll take the couch, Dean. You take the other bed." Dean must be tired, because he doesn't argue, grabbing his toothbrush and heading into the bathroom.

Never thought I'd see the day Dean actively participated in a 'chick flick' moment. He's so glad Dean didn't brush him off, of course, but the open emotion? Sam doesn't remember the last time Dean talked to him without some sort of posturing or stoic 'manly' bullshit. He must've really been lonely. Sam's smile drops. Well, Dean probably isn't gonna spring for round two of emotional honesty. Better to wait on that front. Might as well try to get some sleep before sunrise. He has class tomorrow.

Chapter Text

The next morning is probably the most 'typical college student' time Spencer has ever had. They woke up far too late (Dean and Sam insisted he get enough rest after the chaos of the night before), and Sam missed his 8 a.m. lecture. Dean went out and bought donuts and coffee. Now they're cruising down the highway, windows rolled down, radios blasting Van Halen. 

As the impala pulls up to the front of the library, Sam and Dean are discussing school breaks.

"We could meet at Bobby's? He still won't see Dad, but a few weeks ago, I called to ask for information on a fugly, and he didn't seem angry to be helping me out." Sam nods in agreement. "Also, you should give Bobby a call. Tell him about your pre-law 101 classes. He asked about you when I called, but I didn't really know what you were up to, so he'd probably wanna hear it from you." Spencer doesn't know who Bobby is. Maybe their dad's estranged brother?

"Yeah, I'll call him later today." Sam turns in his seat to face Spencer, eyes gleaming playfully. "Spence, I think you'd get along great with Bobby. What are you up to this summer?" Spencer freezes. What? Are they trying to make plans? With him? Spencer thought they were planning more toward family time. Why would he be there?

"...Not really. I don't really have any plans over break." Spencer would like to spend time with his mom, but she is in a sanitarium, and they don't typically let unaccompanied minors in to visit, and there's about a snowball's chance in hell that his dad will take him to see her. Hell, Spencer probably wouldn't see the slimy bastard even if he spent all summer in Vegas. The man could be an endurance runner for how often he leaves their family in the dust.

"How 'bout you come over to South Dakota with Sammy, here. You mentioned wanting to learn more about hunting, and lemme tell you, Bobby's the best in the business!" Dean beams at him. "Sam will teach you the basics before summer starts, but Bobby is in a league of his own, and I get the feeling you're a pretty good learner." Honestly? That sounds pretty much perfect. He'll get to research, study, and observe the supernatural. Meet other hunters. Maybe go on a hunt, if Sam and Dean decide he can. He'll be able to immerse himself in a new subject, and if he's constantly learning, he might bee able to distract himself from worrying about his mom!

"I mean, if that's okay. I don't wanna intrude, or anything." Sam smiles gently and begins to unbuckle his seatbelt, now that they're parked. 

"Of course!" Sam gets out of the car and opens the back door. "How're your ribs feeling?" Dean gave him more ice before they hit the road, but by now, he is just holding a damp t-shirt.

"They're okay. Feels better than last night." Spencer scoots to the edge of the seat and hops out of the car. "I think I'll be good to go for my noon lecture."  He slings his messenger bag over his shoulder.

Dean appears next to them. "Alright, nerds. You can go study to your hearts' content. I just got the coordinates for my next gig, so I gotta bounce." Dean claps each of them on the shoulder and moves a step away. "If you two ever need anything, call me." Dean's face is stuck in a soft smile. "I'll  see you soon?"

Spencer and Sam respond in the affirmative.

"Bye, Dean!"

"Take care!"  

Dean back in his car and pulls away. Spencer and Sam wave until he's out of sight. Sam sets his hand on Spencer's shoulder. "I'll walk you to class. I don't have anything 'til 2. Do you need anything from your dorm?"

These Winchester boys are something else.