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Dean blinked his eyes open, frowning at the strange noise buzzing around in his ears. He looked around the brightly lit room in confusion before his eyes finally settled on his phone, screen lit up with Sam's name as it vibrated violently on the bedside table. Sam. They hadn't talked since he left for college at the beginning of the summer. Dean had tried to contact him several times, but Sam never answered his calls, never responded to his texts. Dean had given up on trying a couple of months ago, figuring that Sam just wanted him and dad out of his life. Looked like he was wrong.
Dean sat up with a groan, rubbing his hands over his face to try to beat back the exhaustion threatening to overtake him again. His phone stopped buzzing for a moment, the call probably going to voicemail. He picked it up, flipping it open and frowning when he noticed the five missed calls. “What the hell, Sammy?” He murmured to himself. His phone started vibrating again, Sam calling him once more. He answered right away. “Sammy?You alright?”
“Dean! Thank God, where the hell are you??” Sam's voice was frantic, laced with more panic than Dean had heard from him in years.
“Uh, somewhere near Flint, Michigan. Why?”
“Where's dad?”
Dean's frown deepened. “On a hunt out in Nevada. Sammy, whats going on? Are you hurt?”
“Hurt? No, I'm not...dude, haven't you seen the news?”
“The news? No, Sam, I haven't seen the damn news, I just woke up. What the hell is going on that you're freaking out so much about?”
Silence on the other line. Then: “Dean. Turn on the local station.”
Dean rolled his eyes but looked around for the remote anyway, finally locating it and flicking on the motels crappy T.V.. He tuned in to the local news station, and his eyes widened. “Sam...Sammy, this isn't really...”
“It's real. First plane hit about fifteen minutes ago.”
Dean watched in shock as the North tower of the World Trade Center was engulfed in smoke and flames. After he'd been watching a few minutes, the live feed showed a second plane hit the South Tower. Dean felt a tear drip down his cheek. “Holy hell....”
“I know.” Sam said, horror obvious in his voice. Dean sniffled and wiped at his eyes.
“You're um, you're still at school, right? You're not...” Dean trailed off as he saw small black blurs jumping from the building. People.
“I'm at Stanford. Had an early shift this morning, was watching the news while I made coffee. I saw the Towers and I just....” Sam's voice cracked. “I realized I didn't know where you were, if you could have been there.”
“Sammy, I'm okay. Dad's okay too. We're still here, still kicking.”
“I know. I know that, but...” A harsh breath was huffed out over the speaker, and Dean knew Sam was crying. “It's not okay. I've treated you like shit, and I'm so, so sorry. I should have called you, should have done something sooner, but I-”
“Sammy.” Dean said firmly, voice miraculously steady. “It's okay.”
The world wasn't okay. Something truly evil had just taken place in the world, and Dean could tell the fallout would be big. But listening to Sam cry over the phone, so overwhelmingly relieved that Dean was alive and safe....yeah.
The world wasn't okay. But they were.