Disclaimer: The characters of Supernatural do not belong to me.

The muscles in John's legs were burning, but he kept running. The five mile trek from the bar seemed to be taking hours, and he knew that he hadn't made it more than halfway. But he had to make it. He just had to. As he ran, he thought about the last few hours, and how badly he'd finally screwed up what little he still cared about.

Three Hours Earlier

John slammed the front door of the house and slammed the door to his pickup with equal ferocity. He pulled out of the driveway and raced towards the bar, his anger pushing him along like the wheels on the truck beneath him. He couldn't believe Sam had the nerve to try and leave the family behind. All for some school that would never teach him what he needed to survive.

In the back of his mind, John knew he'd gone too far. He lectured Sam about respect more often than had really been necessary. It seemed the boy had been nothing but a walking argument since his twelfth birthday. But tonight had been different. Sam had come to him, calmly asked to speak to him, and requested that John let him get out what he had to say before he said anything.

"Dad, I got into Stanford on a full scholarship. I start in the fall. I'm going. I'd like it to be with your blessing, but I'll go without it too. I know you think it's a waste of time, but it's my life and my choice. I'll still help you and Dean as much as I can, but I'm going to school. I hope you can be happy for me, but I'm leaving either way."

John had exploded. One of the only times Sam had actually attempted to discuss something with him rather than argue with him or shout about it, and John had overwhelmingly failed to treat him in kind. He'd screamed, told Sam over and over how selfish he was, how he was abandoning the family, how people would die if he kept up with this plan. Maddeningly, Sam had said nothing; he'd simply sat at the table, quietly taking in the things that John shouted at him. Sam's quietness only served to fuel his father's rage. When finally John had stopped screaming, and Sam hadn't moved, he delivered one final warning.

"Sam, you walk out that door today, don't you ever come back."

Sam had nodded, bitten his bottom lip, and said neutrally, "Yes, sir. I'll be gone in an hour."

It was then that John had left the house and climbed into the truck. Now, as he sat down at the bar, the first tendrils of guilt were beginning to latch onto his mostly hardened heart. Did Sam really believe that John wanted him gone for good? Sam had even offered to still help him and Dean hunt. That was when John had known, for certain, that Sam was a better man than he'd ever been. He had the life he wanted within his grasp, and still he was offering to help.

John had noticed the older man sitting at the bar the second he came in, of course. He'd noticed everyone in the bar. But the old man seemed like the safest bet for a quiet drink, so John decided to sit down next to him.

"Kid trouble?"

"Excuse me?" John asked.

"Kid trouble?" the old man asked. "You got the look."

Despite the gravity of the situation, John chuckled a bit. "Do I?"

"Had it myself a few times over the years."

"Yeah?" John asked. He quickly ordered his normal Jack Daniels and asked, "How many kids you got?"

"Two." the old man answered, then frowned a bit and looked into his drink. "I had two."

"Had?" John asked.

"Yeah." the old man looked up and said, "Two boys."

"Me too." John said.

"So which one's giving you the grief? Your youngest?"

"How'd you know?" John asked.

"Lucky guess." the old man answered. "Mine used to fight me until I couldn't remember what we were fighting about."

"Yeah, well, mine's the same way. Unfortunately, I know exactly what we were fighting about this time."

"Mind if I ask what it is about?"

John almost answered truthfully, then realized that telling his newfound confidant that he had fought with Sam over going to an Ivy League university for free would probably kill any goodwill this guy had towards him. "You wouldn't believe me?"

"Was it college?"

John stared at the old man, amazed. "How the hell…?"

The old man laughed. "Been there." He took a long swig of the beer in front of him. "My youngest and I fought when he went to college too. I thought it was a waste of time, that all he needed to know for life after high school was to work in the family business."

"Yes!" John said, relieved to have someone understand. "That's exactly what's going on with us."

"I was a single dad. My wife decided she was better off with the guy she met at the grocery store while I was working hundred hour weeks. She left me and the boys when they were one and seven and never looked back."

"Ouch." John said sympathetically. "That's rough."

The old man shrugged. "My oldest really stepped up. He did everything I ever asked of him. Never complained about it either. He raised my youngest."

"That sounds like me too." John said.

"Yeah. After my youngest and I had that blow up about him leaving to go to college, my oldest drifted. He stayed behind to help me run the business, but he stopped talking to me about anything."

John shook his head. He was terrified the same thing was about to happen with Dean. If Dean even decided to stick around after the ultimatum that John had thrown at Sam.

"A few months later, I caught him doing drugs in his room."

John's mouth dropped. "What? What did you do?"

"Exactly what I shouldn't. Screamed, yelled, told him he was nothing but a useless junkie to me now. That I was disappointed in him."

"That had to be tough."

"Not as tough as what happened next." the old man took another long swig of beer, and ordered another bottle. "I told him as long as he was using, he might as well be dead to me."

"Sounds understandable." John said. If Dean ever did turn to drugs, John couldn't honestly say to himself he wouldn't react the same way.

"I got a call from my brother two days later. My oldest had been found in an alley. Dead. He'd overdosed right after I told him that he might as well be dead to me."

John was speechless.

"And the worst part? He left a suicide note. He said that all his life, I'd given him one job. To look out for his brother. He said he'd wanted to call my youngest, maybe move closer to him, but he figured that I wouldn't like that. So he turned to the drugs."

John felt his heart race in his chest. He'd done the same to Dean as this man had done to his oldest son. Sam had been Dean's responsibility from the age of six months on. He'd even used Dean to try and guilt Sam into staying. Was Dean thinking along the same lines?

"I'll burn in hell for what I did to him. That boy was everything I didn't deserve, and I paid him back by telling him he was worthless and that he was better off dead."

"And your youngest? What happened to him?"

The old man chuckled. "My baby boy is a brain surgeon now. One of the best in the country."

"Really?"

"Yep. He can sniff out brain tumors like a damn bloodhound. He got an article in some medical journal a couple months ago. I didn't understand most of it, but the gist of it was that he'd developed a brand new type of brain surgery that had ended up saving a couple thousand people a year. Doctors that have been in medicine for as long as I've been alive are calling my kid for help."

"Wow. You must be proud of him." John said.

"Yeah, I am." The old man said. "But it's come at a price."

"What price?"

"Well, after my oldest died, he blamed me for what happened. Said I was always too hard on Robbie, that I made him think he had to be perfect or he wasn't worth being around. I blamed him, said he killed his brother's will to live when he left home. We didn't talk to each other for damn near close to ten years." The old man took the first swig of his new beer. "Finally, one day I just realized he was right. That it was my fault Robbie was dead. So I went to my youngest and told him he was right."

"What happened?"

"He was married by then. Had a couple kids, a nice wife. But he told me that he wasn't living in the past anymore. That he appreciated the effort I made, but until I sobered up, he didn't want me in his kids lives." The old man shook his head and paused for a moment, then took a meaningful look at John. "Because I was too damn pigheaded and stubborn to just let my boy go for a little while, I lost both of 'em. And now I got grandbabies that I'll never know. Take my advice, bud. Don't let the same thing happen with your two. Go home, tell your youngest you're proud of him, even if you don't feel it right now. Because one day you will. And tell your oldest that you don't know where you'd be without him. I'm guessing that one's true, ain't it?"

"Yeah." John said, swallowing hard.

"Might not be too late, you know. If you leave now."

John didn't know what made him do it. He had no reason to trust this random stranger in the bar. But he was right. He didn't know how he'd make it work, but if Sam had disregarded his orders once more and stayed home, he'd tell Sam that they'd make it work. Somehow. He could go to school, learn to become something great, and no matter what, Dad would keep him safe. He stood up and headed out the door, determined to make it home before Sam left.

Finally, blessedly, John could see the house in the distance. He picked up his pace and ran onto the front porch, yanked open the front door, and looked around inside. Dean sat on a chair, staring out the window looking forlorn. There was no other sound in the house.

"Dean?"

Dean didn't move from the window, didn't turn his gaze towards his father as he would have done any normal night. "Yes, sir?"

"Did Sam leave?"

John could see the pain in Dean's face when he answered.

"Yes, sir." Dean said. "I drove him to the bus station." Dean had no doubt a lecture was coming, but he didn't care. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing did.

"Damn it!" John exclaimed, running a hand through his hair then reaching over and pushing the lamp onto the floor. The bulb inside it shattered to a million pieces. "Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT!"

"He left this for you, Dad." Dean said, picking up an envelope in his lap and handing it to John. Inside was a letter from Sam.

Dear Dad,

No matter what you think right now, I am not leaving because I hate you or because I want you to suffer. Just the opposite. Dad, I want you to understand something. I am not leaving the hunting life because of you. I admire you. You are my hero. I know that you love me, and as much as we might fight, I have never doubted it.

But I'm not cut out for this. You are my hero, you and Dean, and you have made it clear on many occasions that no matter how hard I try, I can never measure up to the two of you. I will never be as good as you. I can never be the hero, so I'm going to stop trying.

One day, maybe soon, maybe far off into the future, you'll regret this fight. I want to tell you something. I already forgive you for it. But, on the slim chance that you care enough about me to want to bridge the gap, just know that I'm open to it. But I won't chase you for it. If you want to heal what's wrong between us, you're going to have to come to me.

Like I said before, I love you Dad. I mean that. And I hope that one day, you'll love me as much as I love you.

Till then,

Sam

John crinkled the letter in his hands and shut his eyes tight against the pain in his heart. I hope that one day, you'll love me as much as I love you. John believed he'd be haunted by those words for the rest of his life. So he decided then to give Sam a gift. He'd let Sam go to Stanford, let him have his life, and drop in whenever he could. And maybe one day, when the thing that killed Mary was dead, they'd have a chance to start over. Right now, he had another problem to try and rectify.

"I'm going to bed, sir. Good night."

Dean started to get up, but John grabbed his shoulder. Dean gasped when his father wrapped his arms around his neck and held onto Dean tight. Dean eventually hugged him back, and John assured him,

"I'd be lost without you. Don't ever forget that. No matter what, I love you son, and I am proud of you."

"Dad? Where's this coming from?"

"Let's just say I had my eyes opened tonight. In a big way." John finally pulled away from Dean, but kept a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I'm gonna let Sammy stay at Stanford as long as he wants. I'll stop in and check on him from time to time, but as of now, he's living his life. And I couldn't be more proud of him either."

"Shouldn't we tell him that?" Dean said, nearly begging.

"No. Not now. Hopefully we will one day, but not now." John said. "Dean, listen. If you want to leave because of your brother, I understand. I really do, and I swear I won't stop you. I just ask that you keep in touch with me. So I know that you're alive."

"No way, Dad. Hunting's my blood. I'm here with you."

"Okay then. What do you say we go to bed, start fresh in the morning?" John suggested.

"Deal." Dean said. "Night, Dad." As Dean watched John heading up the stairs to get what Dean was sure would be no sleep at all, Dean turned to the letter in his hand. Stay safe, Sammy. Please, just stay safe.