Tonight's the night. My heart's beating louder than anyone can imagine. As I sit on the rusty motel chair, and arrange my jumbled thoughts in order, I tap my foot nervously on the teak flooring. This causes Dean to stir in his sleep. I hit the back of my head, and remind myself to calm down. The backpack that rests just near the foot of the chair, seems to stare at me- taunting me, as if. The zipper on the last compartment of the bag is open, which as I realise- panic overtakes my nerves. I dive towards the bag, reflexively.

I dig through it like a mangled animal digging into its food after a harsh winter. The ride to the motel in the back of a pickup truck is never good, especially when there are important items with you. Restlessness engulfs me now, as I empty the entire bag on my bed, not worrying that Dean is beginning to awaken. The violent encounter finally manages to bring me success. There it is.

My acceptance letter to Stanford.

It had come in the mail at Jim's motel back in Ohio, which I'd listed as a permanent address- considering the fact that we didn't have a permanent address. Hunting wasn't exactly a stable job- monetarily and geographically. Since we'd stayed at his motel for almost three months-Ohio also being the place I'd given my Finals and SAT's- Jim had become something of a friend. He not only allowed me to stay in the diner till numerous late o'clocks, but also made me coffee and midnight snacks. Maybe he sympathized with my condition. Maybe he knew how hot tempered Dad was, and how embarrassing it was for me. Maybe he knew that this wasn't the life I'd wanted, and maybe he knew that I was working my ass off to escape it.

Maybe he wanted me to escape as well. I sigh, as I pick it up and gaze at the envelope. The beautiful logo covering up most of the front. The words "Mr Samuel J Winchester" adorning the very middle. As I turn it around, I scoop out my letter which reads the story of my success. My very own victory. A feeling thousand times better than stabbing a monster that runs amok at night. I finally have a choice. To escape this...slavery, this bitter ball of abnormalities I conclude myself to be. Inside that letter, contain the words that can define my life from here on. A shot at the normal. Then again, I wonder how a person as emotionally scarred as myself, can ever be truly normal. I carress my letter, as I hear Dean mumble unintelligent words in his sleep.

I had been fairly confident that I would get accepted. Not to brag, but the SAT coach back at school was more than sure that my transcripts, report cards, and my GPA was already enough to make me "Stanford material" that lack of extra credit wouldn't be too much of an issue. Besides the hundreds of school transfer certificates certainly helped as proof as to why I didn't have extra credits. How exactly was one to join the basketball team, drama department or community service if they lived in a place for not more than two or three months?

I huff as I Iook at the door, impatiently. Pacing seems to worsen my ability to think. I finally settle down on my bed. As I do, I realise I'm sitting on a hard object which pokes me uncomfortably, only adding to my growing irritation. Annoyed, I pull it off from under me.

Dad's journal. My eyes fall on it, and widen in disbelief. He'd left the journal in my backpack? No way, I tell myself. John Winchester doesn't trust anyone with his journal. Not even Dean- the son that worships him. I'm about to put it away, but curiosity strikes me. I place my letter under my pillow, dust all the wayward items off, and lie down on the bed. My ears are throbbing for unknown reasons. My heart rate still escalated.

I flip through the pages nervously, not knowing what to expect. The first few entries are after mom's death. Dad goes on to explain how he's coping with life after, and how Dean's questions are bothering him because of his lack to provide a definite answer. He explains his anguish and expresses his fear for the days that are to come.

I skip a little forward, desperately trying to find a journal entry that had the words 'happy', 'fun', and 'family'. I flip through the pages, at a faster pace, tears stinging my eyes- until exasperated I throw the journal to the floor. Dean stirs once again. My hands are in my hair.

Seriously , Dad? Not one, one good memory of us?! All this useless journal contains, is the pathetic story of the pain you've suffered. Not even a mention of all the pain you've inflicted upon your own sons! After all of that, you don't have ONE nice thing to say! Not even about Dean!

I chuckle as I realise what an idiot I've been, expecting any emotion for a man who was so beyond repair, so bloody broken that all he could offer was misery- which he spread around every time he stepped in a room. I finally acknowledge the reason I wish to flee, I finally say it to myself.

John Winchester is a great man to some. But the day I become anything like him, is the day I'll put a bullet through my head.

I close my eyes and blink back the moisture in my eyes. I walk towards the journal on the floor, and I flip it over. I'm about to shut it for good, until my eyes fall on a folded piece of paper that lies in between the opened book. I open it, when I read a mangled, "Dad". It's a father's day card from Dean to John, back when he was seven. There's a drawing of Dean and me, sitting on a swing, and beneath it the card reads:

Dear Dad,

Happy Father's Day! Sammy and me love you very much. And I wish Mom was still here. I know you're a superhero, Dad. You fight the bad people. And I know you miss us a lot. But don't worry about Sam. I'll take good care of him just like you and Mom took care of me. Love, from Dean and Sam.

I close the journal. I blink rapidly, as tears threaten to fall again. I breathe heavily and I look over at my brother. Still sleeping-despite all the noises around him- he looks more at peace than he's ever before.

Second by second, my childhood flashes before my eyes. The first time I had gotten sick from the flu, Dean had stayed up all night by my bedside. The time he'd failed a Math class, because I'd hurt myself in pre school and had cried for him to come and get me. The time he'd told me how to ask a girl out, because I was too much of a chicken to do it. All the late night shifts he'd spent working at local marts, to make sure I got edible food. Every bully he'd fought off, every time he'd stepped up to John for me, every time he'd given up something of his own for my sake. All of it comes back to me , as I quickly grab my letter from under the pillow and stare at it. I finally acknowledge the reason why, part of me wants to stay. I finally say it to myself.

Dean Winchester has been bad to very many. But, the day I become half the man he is, is the day I'll finally begin to respect myself.

I place the letter and the journal next to one another, with nothing left to do but ponder.

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Hey. Hi. How's it going?

This story wasn't sudden, at all. In fact it's a story that's been long due. I've heard so many "Dean Girl" complaints, about how Sam was selfish enough to leave Dean and go to Stanford after everything he'd done for him.

Although I'm a Dean Girl myself, I don't really agree with that particular sentiment expressed by my fellow sisters. So here's a fresh perspective, as to how it could've gone down.

This is part 1, of course. Part 2 shall take some time, since this laptop is going for repairs!

Anyway , reviews and PM s are more than welcome!

Hugs and stuff, y'all!