Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

Warnings: Language.

Author's Note Part 1: This is the continuation of Becoming Human set about three years afterwards and part three of Leave Normal Alone, which was based on a prompt given to me by M.J. Ellsworth. Without her, this story would not exist.

"Sam, you fucking idiot." Dean pushed the accelerator of the Impala down until it refused to give way anymore. "I'm going to kill you when I find you."

The weather in California was nice. Warm, but not humid. A bit of a breeze. Mostly sunshine and blue skies and pretty women.

But that was all that was nice about California, especially since it was dreadfully bare of Sam's presence.

Dean flipped open his phone and called his Dad, who thankfully answered after the first two rings. "Sam lied to us," he said.

"What are you talking about, Dean?" John asked, voice betraying every bit of exhaustion he felt. He sounded like he'd been pulled from the edge of sleep.

They'd finished a long hunt, a series of long hunts that had them going from one end of the country to the other, finishing close to Palo Alto. John wanted to wait until the next day to check in on Sam. Dean, on the other hand, couldn't wait that long.

Dean had the Impala's windows rolled all the way down, and he considered yelling Sam's name out onto the streets. He wanted to pull over next to strangers and ask if they knew where his brother was. His brother who had been less than mentally stable for years.

His little brother, whom he should have never left alone.

"I'm saying that Sam isn't at Stanford," Dean said. "Hell, the admissions department said that they never even received an application from anyone named Samuel Winchester. The little bastard lied to us, then vanished."

"Shit," John said, sounding much more awake. "Dean, he can't be out in the world by himself. He can't be off on his own without any sort of structure. Is he back with Bobby?"

"I don't know. I can call and see, but he would've told us that he went back to living with him. And why go to the trouble of forging an acceptance letter from one of the most prestigious universities? What does that accomplish?"

"It gets all of us out of his hair long enough for him to start whatever his real plan was," John said. "We thought he was safe at Stanford, so we felt no rush to check on him. Instead, we went from hunt to hunt for nearly the entire school year before we decided that, since we were close enough, we could stop and pay him a visit. We rationalized that we were busy and he was busy, so it was no big deal if we couldn't stop by until a little later. I guess he knew us too well."

"How could Bobby not figure it out and tell us?"

"Why don't you ask him?" John asked. "Call me back after."

"Yeah, will do," Dean said, ending the call and dialing in Bobby's number instead.

"Singer Salvage."

"Where the hell is Sam, Bobby?"

"Stanford, you know that. He's been there for a while now, and I think the school year's just about over. You take a blow to the head or something, son?"

"Here's the problem: he's not there."

"What?"

"Sam's not at Stanford. They never even received an application from him," Dean said. "Did you know about this?"

"Of course, I didn't know about this! You think I would've let him leave my house if I knew he wasn't going to a university?"

"Didn't you ever go down to visit him?" Dean asked.

"No, he came and stayed with me when he said that he was on winter break or spring break or whatever it was at that time," Bobby said. "I didn't know that he wasn't actually attending."

"Well, he sure fooled all of us."

"You're telling me. Look, get your ass to my place, and we'll see what we can figure out. Try and find a lead on him."

"Yeah, I'll pick up my dad from the motel and we'll be on our way over," Dean said. He hung up and turned around, heading back to the motel and feeling like every minute was too precious to waste now.

He had a little brother to find.

South Dakota felt farther away than ever, especially with John in the driver's seat and Dean left to stare out the window, thinking about how Sam managed to slip away so easily. He should've known that Sam was planning something. Thinking back over their phone calls and the times he visited him at Bobby's before he went—or didn't—to college, he should've been able to pick up that Sam was far from okay.

He was supposed to be at Bobby's to get better, but most of the times Dean saw him again, he seemed worse.

Sitting back and drinking a cold beer at Bobby's was refreshing after a long hunt, especially since visiting Bobby had the added perk of seeing Sam again these days.

Sam, who sat next to him and picked at loose threads on the cuffs of his sleeves, hadn't spoken as much as Dean expected. Usually, when they were apart for long enough, Sam would talk his ear off about all the things that Dean missed. He had to remind himself, once again, that this wasn't the same Sam he used to know.

"How's that day therapy going?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "I don't feel different. They just want me to talk about myself and how I feel and all that, but there's a lot I can't talk to them about. Not without getting locked up."

"Well, you haven't been in it that long. It might still help if you give it some time."

"Maybe," Sam said.

Dean finished his beer and started a second one, finding it harder to pay attention to the generic action movie he'd found playing on a random channel. The kind filled with cheesy one-liners and an abundance of obviously fake explosions. The kind where the hero always won and everything turned out okay, which Dean knew from experience wasn't how life worked. Every time he glanced at Sam, he seemed to be glaring at an empty corner of the room.

"Sammy, what are you looking at?" Dean asked.

His question snapped Sam back to reality, and he shook his head.

"Nothing. I just thought I saw something move for a second."

"Does that happen a lot?"

This time, it was Sam's turn to look at Dean like he was crazy. "Of course not," Sam said. "You can't tell me you've never seen something in the corner of your eye, then looked and found that it was nothing."

"I guess it comes with our work," Dean said.

He spent the rest of his visit with a close eye on Sam, and it was easy to tell that Sam made a conscious effort to not let his eyes wander around the room. Sometimes, he even bit his tongue, like he wanted to say something, but refused to let himself utter a single syllable.

"We'll get there soon, Dean. We'll find him, don't worry."

"I didn't say anything."

"Yeah, well," John said, "you didn't have to. When it comes to Sam, your emotions are easy to read."

Dean didn't have a response to that. He knew that he was an open book when it came to Sam. He just wished that Sam was still an open book to him.

Bobby welcomed them into his home as he had done dozens of times before, with a cold beer and a meal that was heated from a can (he told Dean once that both were more for him than for his father).

"Wish it was better circumstances that brought you two here," Bobby said once they settled at his table. "Sam's always been too smart for his own good."

"You think we would've known he was planning something," Dean said. "How could we not know? How could I not know?"

"If Sam doesn't want you to know what he's up to, then you won't know," John said, shaking his head.

"Are there at least any leads?" Dean asked.

Bobby shook his head. "Been trying to call him, but it goes straight to voicemail. Makes me wonder what he's up to. Whatever it is, it can't be good. Not if he's gone through so much effort to hide it."

Dean took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Not long ago, he was expecting to see his brother again for the first time in far too long. Somehow, he ended up at an old wooden table trying to scrap together a starting place to find said brother because he wasn't where he claimed he would be.

And damn if that didn't feel like a betrayal.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said, flipping through the few channels his current motel room offered.

"Hi, Dean."

"How're you doing? Handling the college life alright?"

"Yeah, I'm not bad," Sam said. "It's a little easier. The setting is way different from a normal high school, and I really just blend in."

"Wearing too many layers to hide yourself?"

"You would, too, if you were me."

"Well, try not to get heat stroke," Dean said. "I know it's pretty warm in California, and I've seen you wear a sweatshirt in hot weather back in Texas. Anyway, impressing all your teachers? I still can't believe that you got into Stanford, man. After all you went through, that's one hell of an accomplishment."

"There are a lot of people here. I'm trying not to draw attention to myself, from students or teachers."

"Yeah, I get that. Are you seeing any counselors there, or are you happy enough with the time you spent in that day program?"

"I'm not seeing a counselor or anything. Look, Dean, I have work that I really need to do. I'll talk to you again another time."

"Alright, Sammy. Take care."

Dean barely got his words out before Sam ended the call.

"He was pretty vague all the times I called him," Dean said. "I wonder if I would've been able to figure it out if I asked more questions. Asked for more detail."

"Like your dad said, if Sam doesn't want you to know something, you won't know it," Bobby said. "I'll call Caleb, see if he can track Sam's phone."

John stood up. "We should get some rest while we can. And don't keep yourself up, Dean. You're gonna need to be in top shape. I feel like we have a long hunt ahead of us."

Dean followed his dad upstairs, splitting off to stay in the room he always shared with Sam and lying on the bed that was supposed to be Sam's. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He still had a lot of questions for Bobby, like how he didn't realize when he dropped Sam off that Sam didn't actually stay there.

But first, he did need some sleep. He tried to make himself comfortable, but it was hard to take his mind off of Sam in that room, especially when some of his things had been left behind. There was a small collection of things that must have held meaning to Sam while he stayed there, little trinkets and knick-knacks. The room had a touch of personality to it that they never got to add to the motel rooms they stayed in.

Sam's absence felt as prominent as it did the night Dean came back from a bar to find fifteen-year-old Sam missing. The night that started it all.

And that scared him.

Author's Note Part 2: And so a new journey begins to find a Sam who's disappeared of his own choice. I hope that you enjoyed this set up and that you will stick with me while we set forth on a new adventure.

Please leave a review before you go!