Author's Note: So...hello there. My lovely, lovely readers. So...my other two stories have been put on hiatus for a while (you'd probably call it neglect, as I haven't informed any of you...and I've been messaged about it,) so here's your formal apology. To be honest I didn't think about continuing We Do What We Must, because I like where it stopped but you guys wanted more so I may be able to throw out another chapter of that once I feel inspired. And I know that Irrefutably Human needs to go one I just...yeah...I'm bad. Anyways!

This one right here is about the night that Sam left for Stanford. It will probably only be two or three chapters. I tried to make it one but I hate writing lengthy chapters that satisfy you all. I'd must rather leave you all in cliffhangers or awkward places. Because...I'm mean. Anyways. Yes. There. I'm rambling. Onward. Read. Enjoy. Critique. Comment. Whatever you like.

Sam shifted awkwardly on the uncomfortable, cheaply upholstered chair. The envelope before him is slightly crumpled from wear—he's been carrying it around for the past three and a half weeks. Bobby had handed it to him with a surprisingly authoritative quirked eyebrow, forcing Sam to open it in front of him. So of course both Sam and Bobby had known for the past three and half weeks that Sam would, eventually, be leaving. The problem remained that neither of them had told Dean or John yet. Bobby had left that distinct pleasure to Sam out of sheer self-preservation.

The sound of keys jiggling the tumblers in the motel room door tore Sam from his trance, and he stuffed the envelope back in his coat pocket just as Dean came through the door. Sam fumbled for the beaten copy of Catcher in the Rye that was always within an arm's reach.

"Hey," Dean chirped, juggling two bags of diner food and three soft drinks while he struggled with the keys.

"Hey," Sam breathed, reflecting on the nerves he could hear in his own voice. "Where's Dad?"

"Police department. He'll be back in a while," Dean answered dryly, disregarding the note of anxiety in his brother's voice. Sam drummed his knuckles against the polished wood of the table…Please don't flip out on me.

"Can I get your help with something?" His eyes were trained on the framed wall art to his immediate left. Knowing that his brother couldn't see the guilty look in his eyes comforted him a little, not that it was any less conspicuous. The photograph was a moose standing in a river; just a cheap print that was there for the sake of being there.

Dean frowned suspiciously, taking a cautious step towards his brother. "With what?"

Sam gave his brother one alarmingly guilty glance before pulling out the envelope. Dean didn't even try to guess what it was until Sam slid it towards him. Dean plucked it off the table, still eying his brother suspiciously. He turned it over a few times in his hands before pulling out its contents.

"Stanford?"

Sam just nodded.

"So you're smart enough to go to Stanford."

"Yeah," Sam couldn't help but smile genuinly. Years of studying from the back of the Impala and diner booths had paid off, by some grace of God.

"Congrats, Nerd. So what?" Dean shrugged, feigning nonchalance. Dean wasn't stupid. The question hung in the air like something tangible. Heavy. The weight made Sam's shoulders hunch, and he thought maybe it was his guilty conscience weighing him down. struggled with the words. He tried desperately to think of some way to say it that didn't sound so painfully blunt. The smile faded into an awkward frown.

"So I'm going." He watched emotions flit across his brother's face, one after the other. Frustration, confusion, disappointment, anxiety, more confusion…it all melted together then, and the look of abandonment that came over Dean for a period of roughly three seconds was enough to tear Sam's heart to shreds. And then, all at once, it was gone. Dean cleared his throat and replaced the pained expression for an emotionless mask.

"What do you want help with? Packing?" his voice was gruff with an edge to it, and reminded Sam so much of his father that he almost regretted telling him first. He realized then that it might have been foolish to assume that Dean would help Sam break the news. Dean was cut from the same mold that John was, and Sam knew it. Even Bobby, who had shown more pride in Sam's accomplishment than he thought he would, hadn't neglected to warn him about this particular confrontation.

"Telling dad?" Sam ventured, giving his brother the full effect of his most pleading gaze.

"Stop with the puppy-dog eyes, Samantha. Not this time," Dean threw the envelope back down on the table and ran a hand through his hair. He seemed to be thinking hard about something. "Why would you do this to us?" The accustation in his tone made Sam shrink back a little.

"I just…" Sam worried his bottom lip for a few seconds, and time stretched on too slow. Dean didn't stop waiting for him to finish. "I want to be…normal."

He may was well have said he wanted to be a woman, the way Dean looked at him then. Eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, arms crossed across his chest...

"'Normal'? 'Normal' people get killed in their sleep by monsters, Sam. 'Normal' people don't know what we know."

"I think it's good that I know what I know. I won't end up like those other people. I know what to look for. I can be careful."

"Yeah well I know you. You're going to be too busy with your nose in a book to watch your own back and me and dad aren't going to be able to help you," Dean's voice grew an octave out of what Sam hated to think was panic.

"I don't need a babysitter, Dean!"

"No, but you need your family."

"Not as much as you need me," Sam grumbled. The words were hardly out of his mouth before he realized what he'd just said. He grimaced inwardly, trying to think of a way to take that back. "I didn't mean…"

"Save it," Dean snapped harshly. Sam was about to apologize again, but he stopped dead at the sound of the Impala's restrained purr as it slid into the parking lot outside. There was one last snarl of discontent from the throaty engine before it was cut short and the door slammed shut. John Winchester was through the door within moments, heaving a mound of paperwork onto the dresser by the door. Half a dozen manila envelopes and five pounds worth of loose papers made up this hunt's pile of evidence.

"Boys," John greeted them gruffly. "What's going on?"

He didn't really want an answer. Sam knew that. It wasn't that he didn't care; it was that he was focused elsewhere. But Sam needed him now, as a father. He wasn't about to put this off anymore.

"I got some mail…" Sam said awkwardly. It wasn't exactly a lie. It was just mail from a while ago. He wondered if that would be added to the pile of ammunition his dad was likely to hold against him in the inevitable battle.

I have a thing for cliffhangers, I told you. Love me! Haha Reviews are much appreciated. Please and thank you!