John Winchester always believed he had all the answers. After Mary died, that was part of his job description, not only to hunt down anything supernatural that crossed his path, he also had to raise his boys for the same life, to continue what had become the family calling. He had never questioned the decisions he made after the death of Mary.

Until now.

And what, the reader might ask had the tough-as-nails ex-marine John Winchester sitting at the bar, crying into his drink like a little sissy boy? It was a revelation he had made earlier in the day, a secret which had turned his carefully ordered world on its axis and made it stop dead in its tracks. His sons, the soldiers he had been raising from the ages of four and six months to take over the family business, were fucking each other. He had seen them, parked in the Impala on an isolated road with the windows fogged up, clearly kissing each other.

God, even now he found it difficult to believe. He wanted to go back and ascertain whether it had not been a mistake. Yet, his lucid mind, the part of him that was not drunk, told him that it was not. In desperation he throws the glass over the bar after downing it, shattering the mirror. When the other patrons try to stop him, he attacks them. Every blow is a blissful path to oblivion and John welcomes them openly. Finally, the bouncers ward off the others, grab him and throw him out.

John stumbles to his car and by some miracle of fate manages not to crash the car on his way back to their current motel. As he drives he decides that he is done behaving like a pansy. He intends to confront them and demand that this…relationship or whatever it can be deemed must stop, effective immediately.

Filled with new resolution, he parks his jeep and walks to their room. He knocks on the door as is their usual custom, two short knocks and two long, to indicate that it is indeed him and not someone else. The door unlocks and the face of his younger son emerges from behind the door.

"Dad?" Sam yawns sleepily and stretches. "We were not expecting you until tomorrow."

I'll bet you weren't!

John barges past his younger son. "Where the hell is Dean?"

"He went out to get some food." It is only when his father walks past him that he notices that John is all battered and bruised, and his shirt is torn. "What happened to you, sir?"

"What the hell difference does it make?" John barks at Sam. He walks up to his younger son and his voice assumes a threatening tone. "How long did you think that you could get away with it?"

Sam collapses as all colour is drained from his face and luckily one of the beds is located behind him and can receive him when he sits down.

"Did you honestly think that I would never find out? What the hell kind of fool do you take me for?"

"How did you find out?" Sam barely manages to choke out the words.

"Does it matter?" returns John coldly. He learned long ago to attach himself from his sons and that skill comes in handy now. Someone else is having this conversation with their son, he is merely the audience. "I will tell you this much, Samuel Winchester, this stops as of now!"

Sam sighs and run his hand through his dark bangs. "Dean told me you would issue this ultimatum. He was certain you would find out."

"He was?"

"I was the one who wanted to tell you about us. Dean, however, adamantly refused. He thought you would not be able to handle it. By the way you are acting now, it looks as if he knows you better then I did."

"And I have discovered I do not know either one of you at all."

"Well, whose fault is that?" Sam asked the painful question as he arose form his seat on the bed and stood on his feet steadier then before. "You have always seen us as your soldiers as opposed to your sons."

John pushed his son up against the nearest wall and held him there by the shirt collar. "You would dare to blame me for this?" he spat indignantly.

"Well, you were the one who forced us to share a room together past puberty. You taught us not to rely on anyone except each other, and let us face it, with the secret we carry who else could we trust? If we therefore sought out each other for comfort, who is truly to blame?" The voice of Sam was cold, calculating.

The wave of guilt which had been warded off before came crashing down upon John with brutal force. He released his son and stood there rubbing his eyes. "My god, what the hell have I done?"

When Sam witnessed the guilt of his father, his tune suddenly changed. "I am sorry, sir. None of this is truly your fault. At some point it became no longer about you or how you screwed up. It only revolved around Dean and me."

"Do you not see that anything you boys do affects me as well?" John turned around to face his younger son. When had he lost control of the situation and become an extra within his own family?

"How could we tell you, Dad? Were we supposed to sit down with you at the kitchen table, and say that we were having takeout chicken for dinner, and that by the way we are screwing each other?"

"How did it start in the first place?"

The guilt on the face of Sam clearly registered where the blame lay. "I was fifteen and you had left us to go on a long hunt. I was going to the motel from school when someone attacked me, it was one of the older boys thinking I was fair game. Before I realized what was happening he had me down on the ground and I tried to fight him, but my strength had left me. Suddenly, a shadow descended upon us and the boy was pulled away. I heard him groan and it was only when I noticed that the saviour was wearing a leather jacket that I realized it was Dean. He brought me back to the motel and gave me a lecture along the usual lines. All I could think about was how he was the only one who had ever cared for me, the only one I could rely on. So, I kissed him, and it has been going on ever since."

"You must have had some laughs, fooling me like this."

"Of course not, Dad. It has been painful to both of us to have to lie to you like this. You should reconsider if you believe that it was easy." The pain in the young face of Sam, the look he gave John signifying maturity beyond his years, told the older hunter what words could not.

"It is about to get a lot easier. Your mother saved up quite a capital for your education and I kept enough to send one of you to school."

Sam looked confused. "I thought you spent it all on ammo."

"No. I am offering you a bribe, accept it and go."

"What are you talking about?"

"I am willing to pay for your tuition and upkeep if you go today to Palo Alto."

"You hate me that much?"

"No, I love you that much." Sam had never heard the words from his father before.

"And what about Dean?"

"You understand that sooner rather then later he is going to hate you for pulling him into this? He will one day blame you for making him feel this way. Therefore, it is better to be gone as a fond memory, then stay as a hateful reality."

"I love him, Dad," Sam pleads with tears in his eyes, and a part of John wants to take Sam into his arms and tell him that it will be okay, like he did when Sam had a nightmare as a child, that is when Dean was not around to do it. At this memory, John grinds his teeth. He brought on this situation and must fix it.

"Let us face it, Sam. This world is not for you. You want a different life, a home and a family."

Sam nods as his father continues and places a hand on his shoulder. "I have always known that you would become an important man, and I believe that deep down, you realize that Dean will never be able to give you the life you seek." John waves his hand around to indicate their latest dirty motel room. "He belongs here, with me."

"I know," Sam sighs, his tears still falling. "It does not make leaving any easier."

"Losing someone you love is not supposed to be easy, Sammy." The eyes of Sam grow warmer at the familiar nickname, and wordlessly, he begins to pack.

An hour later, Sam is getting on the bus heading for California with money in his backpack to cover the first semester at school. He waves to his father and John returns the gesture.

He stands by his jeep, watching the bus drive into the sunset with his younger son aboard. All in all, he has done what any good father should. Sam and John have agreed on the story which they will tell Dean, that they had an argument and Sam took off for school with a scholarship. Dean is not to know that John is aware of the relationship between his sons. His hand hangs suspended waving in the air for a long time after the bus is out of sight before he turns and gets into the car. He sighs as he starts the car, pulls out of the parking lot and tries to form the words he will use when breaking the news to his elder son.