*I own nothing. This story was written purely for entertainment. Supernatural was created by Eric Kripke and owned by the CW*
Seventeen year old Sam Winchester read the letter over and over again, nearly bursting with joy. He had been waiting months, leaving forwarding addresses every time he and his dad and brother moved to a different town. Always for the family business.
He read again the letter stating that he had been accepted to Stanford University with a full ride. The obstacle of money was no longer there. The only two obstacles that remained were Dean and John. Dean, Sam knew, would be proud of his little brother, a bit upset that he was leaving the family business to start his new life, but proud. John, on the other hand, was another thing entirely. Sam rehearsed what he would say for weeks, and it was all crap. Nothing sounded right.
He went over the words one more time, mostly because this time it was for real and he was alone in the cheap ass motel room John dumped him in while he and Dean were on a hunt. Sam wished to stay behind to do homework. John was pissed, as usual, but Dean convinced him to leave Sam at the motel. The kid only had a few more months before being done with school for good.
"Dad," Sam said to the wall, "I got accepted to Stanford, and I'm going. Please be proud of me." He shook his head. The words were shit.
Headlights flashed behind the pulls curtains, the familiar sound of the Chevy impala's engine revved as the car pulled into the parking space. Sam quickly hid the letter under a pillow and grabbed a random textbook and opened to a random page. He heart was pounding. It was now or never.
The door was unlocked and Dean, covered in dirt and sweat, walked inside, locking the door behind him.
"Where's Dad?" Sam asked.
"At the bar down the street drinking a beer," he answered. "What ya readin', Sammy?"
"Economics. There's a test Monday," he fibbed.
"You were always better at school than I was," Dean said, smiling proudly at his genius baby brother. Dean had dropped out during twelfth grade to help with the family business. There was no point in graduating anyway. Grunts didn't go to college, they did as they were told.
"Do you know when he'll get back?"
"No. Why?" Dean saw a piece of paper sticking out from underneath a pillow. "The hell is that?"
Dean reached for it, but Sam's reflexes were faster thanks to that damn growth spurt last summer. Sam stood with the paper behind his back.
"What the hell, Sam?"
"Dean, there's...there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about."
"Alright, Sammy, what is it?"
"Did you ever think about going to college? I mean, when you were my age," he asked nervously, afraid of how Dean would react.
"Why would I go to college?"
"I guess I mean, did you ever want to do something besides...this?"
"The family business?" Dean asked, perplexed.
Sam nodded.
"Hell no! My job has always been to save people, hunt things, and most importantly to keep you safe. How was I suppose to do all that while going to college? I didn't even finish friggin' high school because of it!"
There was a pause. Then Sam asked, "What if I went to college?"
Dean's face dropped. He felt like he had been sucker punched in the gut. One look at Sam's face told him that his brother had already made up his mind.
"You serious, Sam?" he asked, looking Sam in the eye.
Sam slowly handed the letter to Dean. He held it gently in his hands so not to damage it, and he read slowly and carefully, as if the words weren't really there. He gave the letter back to Sam.
"So when are you leaving?" Dean asked. He sounded like a little kid who just found out that his parents were getting a divorce and his small, precious world was getting ripped in two and there was nothing he could do to stop it. A single tear fell from his eye.
"August, maybe sooner." Sam didn't want to hurt his brother. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Dean was more of a father to him than John ever was. "I'm so sorry, Dean."
"It's fine, Sammy," he choked. "I'm real proud of you."
The brothers hugged, Dean pulling Sam's ridiculously tall self downwards so he could wrap his arms around his shoulders, as they always did growing up.
"Thank you," said Sam as one obstacle disappeared.
The hug ended and Dean walked to the other side of the room. After burying the rest of his emotions, Dean said, "Dad's gonna be fucking pissed when he hears you're leaving the family business."
"I know."
Just then, there was a bang at the door. John Winchester was back.
Dean eyed their father through the peephole and asked for the password John had set up before the hunt, just in case it wasn't him coming back. He answered correctly and Dean opened the door long enough for him to enter, and then locked it once more.
"The hell are you two standin' around here for?" John asked, smelling faintly of alcohol. "Get packed. There's a job up in Pontiac, Illinois, that we need to be at tomorrow."
"Yes, sir," Dean promptly obeyed and began filling his duffle. Sam didn't move.
"What are you waiting for, boy?" John demanded.
"Dad, there's something I need to talk to you about."
Dean froze, his gaze shifting from Sam to John, ready to jump in between them at a moments notice, ready to protect Sam like he had since he was four years old.
"Talk in the car."
"No, Dad, I need to tell you-"
"Tell me what?" he interrupted. Dean straightened himself, his body tense.
Sam handed John the acceptance letter. John grabbed it and stared at it for a long time, processing every word. He shoved the now crumpled letter in Sam's face. "What the fuck is this?"
"I got into Stanford." His voice was shaking, almost to the point that he couldn't speak. "Full ride," he managed to say.
"So you're just gonna leave us? Walk out on everything!"
"Dad, I-" Tears were welling up in Sam's eyes. He always knew his father wasn't going to take the news well, but this was becoming too much.
"What about the Yellow-Eyed Demon? Don't you want to gank the thing that kill your mother?" John yelled too loudly.
"Yes, but no. I want something more than this."
"Sam, you listen to me, and you listen good. If you go to Stanford, don't you ever come back."
"Whoa, Dad," Dean interjected once tears began streaming down Sam's face, "don't be too harsh on him."
"This isn't about you, Dean. It's between me and your brother." He looked Sam in the eyes and said, "So what's it going to be?"
Sam wiped the tears from his eyes and breathed deeply. He looked to Dean for reassurance, to know that he would make everything right like he always did. But this time, Sam felt that he was on his own. This was his choice. Dean couldn't protect him any more.
"I'm...I'm going to Stanford."
"Get the fuck out. Go! And don't you ever come back!" John screamed furiously. Everything he had worked for, seventeen years worth, was falling apart. How was he suppose to get the Yellow-Eyed Demon that took away his Mary, took away his whole life, with one less soldier?
Sam, furious as well with tears flowing freely down his face, grabbed the letter and shoved it into his duffle bag with whatever else belonged to him: a few books and a few changes of clothes, little things in the motel room. He slung the duffle over his shoulder and walked out the door, slamming it behind him.
Dean ran after him, screaming, "Sam! Sammy, come back!" But he kept walking.
"Dean Winchester!" John yelled, stopping Dean in his tracks, his brother getting farther and farther away. He was torn between protecting his Sammy and obeying his father. He had done both for so long he had no idea how to choose which was more important.
"Sam!" he called out once more. He said quietly under his breath, "There ain't no me if there ain't no you." Dejected, Dean returned to the shitty motel room and loaded the rest of their stuff in the trunk of the impala. He and John were on the road heading for Illinois within half an hour, Dean sitting shotgun and John playing the same goddamn songs again.
As they drove away, Dean looked for Sam, wondering if they might pass him, wondering if John might change his mind and offer Sam a ride, give him a chance to tell his side of the story. Maybe John would be more willing to listen, more open to Sam going to Stanford. It was just four more years, after all. But there was no Sam. Dean's little brother had walked out of his life and into the night.