Chapter Text
July 2048
Stanford University
Stanford's campus looked like it belonged to a different school. Without the usual crowds of students crossing between buildings with backpacks slung over their shoulders, bikes cutting across the paths, and whole groups camped out on the lawns, the gardens seemed bigger and the buildings quieter. The afternoon heat had settled over Palo Alto, and the air conditioning inside the buildings had become one of the only refuges from temperatures that had been climbing for days without any sign of letting up.
Dean Winchester had spent the whole afternoon holed up in the computer lab. In front of him, several screens showed lines of code, data tables, and graphs that had shifted little by little as he fixed errors and tweaked the parameters of his model. In one window he had a spreadsheet open that he'd been staring at for so long that some of the numbers had started to look completely meaningless. To his right sat a cup of coffee he'd bought hours earlier, stone cold by now; every so often he glanced at it as if he expected it to heat itself back up through sheer willpower.
Dean ran a hand through his hair and turned back to the screen. He'd managed to solve one of the problems that had been eating at him since the day before, and even though there was still work left to do, at least he could close out that part of the project without feeling like he was leaving a mess behind. He saved the files, backed everything up, and had started closing a few windows when he heard footsteps approaching from behind.
"Still here?"
Dean spun his chair slightly. His professor was standing behind him with an electronic folder tucked under his arm and an expression somewhere between exhausted and amused.
"Five more minutes," Dean said.
The professor raised an eyebrow.
"You've been saying that for half an hour."
Dean glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen and realized, with some surprise, that it was already past seven.
"This time I actually mean it."
"That's what you said last time."
Dean smiled.
"I know."
The professor looked over the screens, then back at him.
"You do plan on eating dinner at some point, right?"
Dean was about to say yes, that he'd probably grab something once he finished, but his stomach decided to answer first. A low, perfectly audible growl came from somewhere in his gut, and the professor burst out laughing.
"I think your body just answered for you."
"Five minutes," Dean insisted, trying not to laugh. "I'll finish this and go eat."
"Good. And I don't want to find you here at seven a.m. tomorrow."
"No promises."
"Winchester…"
"Fine. I'll try not to."
The professor left, still smiling, and Dean turned back to the screen. Ten minutes later, he finished going over the last of the results, saved his work, and shut down the computer. He sat there for a few seconds, looking at the empty desk in front of him. He'd spent so many hours there that standing up felt strange, like he was stepping out of a little bubble he'd been sealed inside all afternoon.
He grabbed his backpack and left the lab.
The heat hit him immediately. After hours in the air conditioning, the outside temperature felt even more intense, and Dean squinted as he came down the building's front steps. The sun was starting to set, but the pavement was still radiating the heat it had soaked up all day. He hitched his backpack up on one shoulder and headed across campus, enjoying, despite everything, the quiet that summer break had left behind at Stanford.
During the semester, those paths would have been packed with students. This time of year, though, only scattered little groups showed up now and then. Some buildings stayed open for people in research programs or taking summer courses, but the university had lost most of its usual buzz. Dean didn't mind. He actually preferred it that way. There was something nice about walking without having to constantly dodge other people, like for a couple of months the campus belonged a little more to him.
He hadn't gotten far before he heard a familiar voice.
"Winchester!"
Dean turned and saw Jim coming toward him down one of the paths. He had a light backpack, a water bottle, and a look of surprise that quickly turned into a grin once he got closer.
"Jim!" Dean said.
They shook hands and kept walking together.
"What are you doing here?" Dean asked. "I thought you went home for the summer."
"So did I," Jim said, "but I needed to make up some credits, and I found a couple of summer classes that aren't too bad. Well some of them aren't too bad."
Dean let out a short laugh.
"And you decided to stick around all summer just for that?"
"They didn't exactly give me a choice."
"That sounds awful."
"It is. What about you?"
"I'm working as an assistant on a summer project."
Jim looked at him, interested.
"With Dr. Reynolds?"
Dean nodded.
"Yeah."
"Then you got lucky."
"I hope so. If things go well, I might end up doing my thesis with him."
That possibility had been on his mind for weeks now. He didn't want to get ahead of himself, but working on the project had confirmed a lot of what he'd hoped to find when he picked his major. He liked solving problems, spending hours in front of a screen, finding patterns where other people just saw data. It was work that took patience and focus, two things that had never given him much trouble.
"Well," Jim said, "since we're both stuck here for the summer, want to grab dinner with me?"
Dean thought about the work still waiting for him back in his dorm. He'd promised himself he'd go over some results that night, but that could wait.
"Yeah. I need to eat something before I get back to it."
"Perfect. I know a place near campus."
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Dinner ended up running longer than Dean had planned. They talked about classes, the project, a few professors, and what each of them had lined up for next semester. For a couple of hours, Dean managed to completely forget about the graphs waiting for him on his computer and just let himself enjoy a conversation that had nothing to do with algorithms, data, or deadlines.
By the time he finally got back to his dorm, night had already fallen over campus. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and found the battery completely dead, so he plugged it in before setting his backpack down by the desk. Then he peeled off his shirt, soaked through from the heat, and went to take a shower.
The cold water was probably the best decision he'd made all day.
When he stepped out, a towel around his waist and his hair still damp, his phone started ringing on the desk. Dean was already smiling before he even looked at the screen, recognizing the name on it.
Dad.
He grabbed the phone and answered.
"Hey, Dad," Dean said, brightening.
"Hey, son. How are you?"
Sam's voice sounded familiar, but there was something off about it. Not quite worried, not yet, but a tension Dean recognized right away.
"Good. I'm good. How about you?"
"Good. How was your day?"
Dean glanced at his computer.
"Long."
"Still working on the project?"
"Yeah. I was in the lab all afternoon."
"Figured as much."
Sam let out a small laugh on the other end of the line, but his tone shifted slightly right after.
"Hey, by the way… have you talked to your brother?"
Dean stopped smiling and sat down on the edge of the bed. The question had come out so casually that for a second he couldn't figure out why it had put that uneasy feeling in his stomach.
"Bobby?" Dean asked, figuring his brother would be annoyed to hear himself called that instead of Rob.
"Yeah."
Dean took a few seconds to answer. The last time he'd talked to his younger brother had been the day of his high school graduation, about a month ago. He remembered that conversation perfectly. Bobby had been too pumped about his secret hunting trip to pay attention to anything else, while Dean tried to convince him that researching cases was a whole different thing from going toe-to-toe with actual supernatural creatures. The argument had gotten pretty heated, and neither of them had backed down.
They hadn't called or texted since. Then again, they never really kept in constant touch anyway.
"Not really," Dean admitted.
There was a small silence.
Sam tried to cover it, but Dean could hear him take a breath.
"Bobby promised he'd call us every couple of days."
Dean frowned.
"He hasn't?"
"No."
The answer came too fast.
"Since when?"
"Almost a week. He seriously hasn't texted you or anything?"
Dean held the phone with both hands and looked at the screen. No new messages from Bobby. He knew he shouldn't lie to his father, but he also knew that telling the truth would only make a worry that was already growing even worse.
"Oh, wait." Dean faked surprise. "He texted me this morning. I hadn't seen it."
"Really?" Sam's voice picked up. "What did he say?"
"Just that he was somewhere with a bad signal," Dean said, guilt twisting in his chest. He hated lying to his father.
There was a silence on the other end, followed by a sigh of relief Dean could hear clearly.
"Good. That's good. I don't want to bug you. Just… if he calls you again, let me know, okay?"
Dean closed his eyes for a second.
"Sure."
"Thanks, son."
"No problem."
"And don't work all night."
Dean smiled weakly.
"I'll try."
"Night, Dean."
"Night, Dad."
The call ended, and Dean sat there for a few seconds, phone still in his hand. The guilt hit him right away, even though he tried to convince himself it hadn't been that big of a lie. Bobby was probably fine. He was exactly the kind of person who could vanish for days because he'd found some interesting little town, some back road, or some ridiculous story about a monster he wanted to check out. He was probably out there having the time of his life.
Dean set the phone down on the table and got up to make coffee. While the coffee maker ran, he went back to his computer and started going through the tasks he'd left pending. He opened his email, answered a message from Dr. Reynolds, and checked the project's latest progress. Bit by bit, the familiar rhythm of his work started bringing back the sense of normal he'd lost during that call.
Bobby was fine. He had to be. Dean had no real reason to think otherwise.
His brother was reckless, impulsive, and had an almost supernatural talent for getting himself into trouble, but he'd also grown up hearing their dad's stories, knew how to handle weapons, knew the basic rules for dealing with a monster, and above all was convinced he was way more capable than he actually was. He was probably sitting in some roadside bar right now, talking some hunter's ear off, bragging about his first big adventure while his parents worried over nothing.
Dean took a sip of coffee and turned back to the screen.
That's when the phone buzzed.
A notification. A message from Bobby.
Dean grabbed it without thinking and opened the conversation.
If you're reading this, something went wrong. Don't come looking for me. Take care of Mom and Dad. And... I'm sorry. Take care of yourself, man.
Dean felt his stomach drop.
He read the message again, looking for some explanation that wasn't there. Maybe it was some kind of sick joke. Maybe someone had found Bobby's phone and was trying to freak him out. But none of that explained that last word, the one that bothered him the most precisely because it had come from his brother.
Sorry.
Bobby could be stubborn, reckless, infuriatingly full of himself when he wanted to be. He could do something completely idiotic and then come up with twenty reasons why it actually hadn't been that idiotic. What he almost never did was apologize.
Dean called him right away.
The call started ringing, but after several rings it cut off with no answer. He tried again and got exactly the same result. The unease he'd been trying to keep in check started turning into something a lot harder to ignore.
That's when he remembered something he hadn't thought about in years.
Ever since they were kids, the two brothers' phones had shared location. Sam had insisted on it for years, especially once they'd started getting around the city on their own, and the habit had stuck around even after neither of them needed their dad to know where they were every second of the day.
Dean was hoping he'd get lucky, that his brother hadn't turned the feature off before heading out on his trip. He opened the location app. The screen took a few seconds to load. Then a dot appeared on the map.
Dean leaned forward.
Blackwater, Michigan.
He stared at the name for several seconds. The location was hours old, but it was still the last one on record. He pulled up the map and calculated the distance from Palo Alto.
Dean looked back at the message.
Don't come looking for me.
What if he was overreacting? What if his brother was actually fine, and this was all some misunderstanding that would send him on a pointless multi-hour drive?
But then he thought about his mom, his dad, and how much it would destroy them if something happened to his brother.
Dean could be mad at Bobby. He could think he was reckless and believe he was wasting his time chasing monsters when he should be thinking about his future. He could even stay convinced his brother was making a huge mistake.
None of that changed the fact that he was still his little brother.
He picked up the phone and called Dr. Reynolds. When the doctor answered, Dean explained that he had a family emergency and needed to take a few days off. There were some questions, mostly about the project, but the doctor agreed in the end. Dean promised to send him his progress notes and stay reachable if anything came up.
After hanging up, he sat on the edge of the bed, trying to get his thoughts in order. He had no idea how long he'd be gone, what he'd find in Michigan, or even whether Bobby would still be there. All he knew was that he couldn't stay at Stanford waiting for a call that might never come.
He opened the closet and pulled out a small suitcase. He packed some clothes, toiletries, chargers, and whatever else he'd need for a few days on the road. When he finished, he stood in front of the open closet, and his eyes landed on a box he never touched.
He took it down and set it on the bed.
Inside were the things he'd promised himself he'd never use: a gun loaded with salt rounds, a silver knife, and a small bottle of holy water. Dean looked at the items for a long moment, fully aware of everything they stood for.
That belonged to another world.
His father's world. His mother’s world. His uncle's world. The supernatural world, the one where his family had spent decades fighting things most people didn't even know existed. A world he and his brother had always known was real, but one their parents had made sure to keep them out of.
Dean didn't want to become a hunter. He just wanted to find his brother.
Dean closed the box and packed it into the suitcase. Then he grabbed his car keys and took one last look around the room. The computer was still on, glowing with the project's graphs. Books were stacked next to the bed, and the coffee mug still sat on the table. Everything was exactly the way he'd left it before that phone call.
His normal life was still right there, waiting for him.
Dean shut down the computer.
"I'm coming, you idiot," he muttered.
He headed down to the parking lot and loaded the suitcase into the trunk. Then he got behind the wheel, started the engine, and set his destination in the GPS. When the map showed the route to Michigan, Dean stared at the line stretching across the entire country for a few seconds before pulling out.
He left campus a little after ten that night. Stanford's lights faded slowly in the rearview mirror as Dean took the highway east, hands steady on the wheel, phone plugged in on the dash.
He still didn't know what had happened to Bobby, but as California's darkness fell behind him and the road stretched out ahead, one certainty started to settle over everything else: whatever it was that had made his brother send that message, Dean was going to find him.
And more than anything, he hoped he'd get there in time.