The evening was warm, with a hint of chill in the air. The house on the edge of town was foreboding and separate; nothing surrounding it but an open field dotted with trees and underbrush.

John Winchester was out by the Impala, his face a mask of fury as he listened to the voice on his cell phone. Dean Winchester was on the phone, trying to get an invite to Stacy Walter's house. Her parents were gone and her house was empty but for her.

Sam Winchester was in his room, pacing and fidgeting, nervous and apprehensive about what he had to do. An opened envelope and an unfolded letter lie on Sam's bed and he glanced at the letter every few minutes. It read:

Dear Samuel Winchester,

I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Stanford University. Enclosed within are your course list and your list of supplies. Classes begin in two weeks time and dorm applications must be sent in one week prior.

I am also pleased to inform you that the financial assistance you requested has been approved as well. As long as you maintain a GPA of 3.4 or higher all of your tuition and course fees will be paid for in full. Good luck Samuel. Hope to see you soon.

Sincerely,

Iblis Lucifer

Dean of Students

What the hell am I going to do? Sam thought to himself as he looked towards Dean's locked door. I know that I have to tell him, but he'll hate me for it. Sam went to the bed, grabbed the acceptance letter, and made his way across the hall.

"Come on Stacy," Dean cajoled. "You have an empty house and a functioning hot tub. Much fun can be had." Giggles were heard over the phone line and Dean smiled to himself. I'm in. I'm most definitely in, he thought to himself as he adjusted his dick in his jeans.

"So, I'll swing by around nine―" A persistent knocking broke out on Dean's door and he groaned softly. Ignoring it, Dean turned his back and picked up the phone. Before he could put it back to his ear the knocking started up again. Who the fuck is it? He swore silently as he stalked towards the door. Pulling it open he said, "I'm kind of busy right now. So if you could ―". He stopped his rant when he caught sight of Sam's creased and worried brow.

"Hey Sammy," Dean began. "What's up? Are you okay?" He tried to make his voice sound soothing but wasn't sure that it was working out. Sam was so preoccupied though, that he forgot to correct Dean and tell him to call him Sam.

Sam seemed poised to run away, one hand held behind his back and the other one gripping the doorjamb tightly. He balanced on the balls of his feet, turned half towards Dean and half towards the hallway.

"If you're busy I can come back later." He could tell by Sam's tone that he was trying to avoid something and would run off if given the slightest chance."

"It's cool Sammy. I always have time for you. Come on in." He visibly relaxed and unclenched himself all at once, following me as Dean re-entered his room. He paused in the doorway, looking for a place to sit while trying not to step on anything. CD's and their cases littered the floor haphazardly; car magazines were heaped into piles along the closet. Napkins and Post-Its with hastily scribbled names and numbers took up the desktop and AC/DC posters lined the walls.

"Sorry about the mess Sammy. I haven't had time to clean up."

"It's Sam," he said distractedly as he tried to make a space for himself. Sam finally swept things onto the already dirty floor and took the seat directly opposite me. The entire time his hand remained behind his back and Dean was starting to wonder why. He tried to catch Sam's gaze but it kept skirting away. Dean wanted to be annoyed but he knew that something was really bothering Sam and he wouldn't upset his brother like that.

Sam was antsy, adrenaline rushing through his body stimulating the fight or flight response. He accepted that he had to tell Dean, but he dreaded Dean's reaction to the news that he was leaving for college. Even though he was just going to college Dean wouldn't see it that way. He would see it as a major betrayal and probably do something drastic.

Dean was really getting worried now, seeing Sam's inner turmoil on his face. He wanted to reach out to Sam but didn't want to seem like a pussy. Chick flick moments were not his strong suit and emotional outbursts were completely foreign to him. Dean sucked in a sharp breath, ready to jump right in when he started to talk.

"I'm...I'm not really sure how to begin." Sam was so nervous that he had to stay still. His body thrummed with energy; the same kind of energy that he got while hunting. The kind of energy that gripped you hard and wouldn't let you go until either you came out dead or alive.

Dean snorted and dove in. "You didn't 'know' how to tell me you're psychic but you managed that well enough." Remembering how angry and upset Sam had been before finally blurting out his secret made him uneasy. It was rare to see him that unleashed and the hotel walls had quivered during his heated rant.

"Frankly I still think that you were being unreasonable. You could have just told Dad and me instead of hiding it for so long."

Sam laughed, loudly and harshly. "You've got to be kidding me Dean. You saw what Dad did to that guy in Phoenix who had uncontrolled pyrokinesis. He shot him execution style." Sam shivered in response to the memory and closed his eyes.

"I can still the guy, begging and pleading for his life. Do you remember how Dad replied, Dean? He said, "It's not me that's doomed you. The first time you used your power was the beginning of the end for you. I'm just the mortal instrument."

Sam shook his head as if to erase the memory. "After hearing his oh so rousing speech I was more than justified in my decision."

Dean wanted to argue, to defend John's choices, but he knew what Sam was talking about. John had a way of seeing black and white, and while that made him a damn good hunter, it didn't do much for his family life.

He taught them the same way that he hunted; without hesitation or pause; never thinking about the consequences. They were constantly at war and he expected us to act like it; constantly on guard and alert. And while it did keep them alive, it didn't do much for John's relationship with Sam.

Sam had always been the rebellious one; ignoring John's orders outright. John didn't mean to do it, but he had a one track mind. So, when Sam started to do his own thing he focused his attention on Dean. Dean was the perfect son and dutiful soldier always following orders. So, Dean became the favored son and warranted all the attention. And as a result, the rift between dad and Sam only got bigger and bigger over time; leaving Dean to mediate.

But no matter how much Dean wanted John and Sam to get along he didn't want their problems to affect his relationship with Sam.

"Sammy, whatever it is, I'm behind you. You know that I'll always be there for you, right?" Even as I said it I winced inside at the whiny, honey-sweet tone my voice had taken on. Sam on the other hand seemed to master whatever he was feeling and started to speak.

"Well, two days ago I got a letter and..."

"You got a letter two days ago and what?" Dean was really starting to worry now. "What's it say? Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine, Dean. Everything's fine. It's nothing bad."

Sam brought the letter from around his back. It was crumpled and around the edges, as if it had been crushed between his tightly clenched hands.

"Actually, it's what I need to talk to you about. You see, I..."

"Samuel Jared Winchester," John bellowed from downstairs. "Come down here. NOW!" His anger-filled voice echoed against the walls of the long unused house.

Dean turned towards Sam and stared. Sam, on the other hand, was facing away from the door with a challenging defiant look in his eyes. He opened the door and walked down the stairs.

When Dean made his way down the hallway he saw Sam disappear around the corner. He hurried after his brother and quickly made his way to the living room. What he witnessed surprised him.

John was there, holding his cell phone in a white-knuckled grip and glaring broadswords at Sam. His other hand held the crushed remains of an official-looking letter in the other. Sam, however, looked worse for wear. His normally set and square shoulders were slumped in defeat and his head hung low.

"How could you do this, Sammy?" Dad voice was hard with emotion. "More importantly, why do this? Do you hate us that much, or is it just the job."

For once, Sam seemed at a loss for words. "It's...I...I'm just..."

"You're just what, Sam? You're just so tired of our life that you've decided to run away. You're so mad at me that you want to leave us."

John's voice kept growing louder and louder and Sam kept getting smaller and smaller. Dean must have made a sound because now John turned his attention to him.

"And Dean. Have you even told Dean, yet?"

Dean moved closer to face them and could see the stricken look on Sam's face when he saw Dean. John didn't miss the exchange and glared at Sam almost triumphantly as Sam guiltily lowered his eyes again.

"What haven't you told me, Sam?" Dean looked back and forth at John and Sam. "What is it?"

John started in surprise. "Do you mean to tell me that you really didn't tell him Sammy? Well, he'll definitely be surprised when he finds out, huh?"

"Dad, please...don't..."

Dean had never heard Sam's voice quite like this before. He sounded so broken, so lost. Sam sounded defeated.

"Tell me, Sammy." Sam flinched when Dean spoke to him. Dean stared at Sam's bowed head, willing him to look up, but he didn't. Dean turned to John and stared at him expectantly. John didn't disappoint.

"Sammy here applied to college. Got into Stanford."

Dean could tell that John was just saying it to hurt him but it still worked. All Dean heard was Sammy and Stanford and he was off like a rocket. Turning to Sam, he blazed with anger.

"Is this true, Sammy? Are you going to Stanford?"

Still Sam refused to look up and Dean grew even more pissed. His hands curled into fists and before he could stop himself he lashed out. Fist met flesh and Sam fell to the floor, hand held to his face.

"Look at me you bastard. How could you keep this from me, Sammy? Huh? How could you not tell me something this important?"

Sam got back on his feet and rubbed the spot where Dean's fist had connected. He was angry now and looked Dean in the eyes.

"It wasn't like that Dean," Sam ran his hands through his hair jerkily. "I was going to tell you, but I... I..."

"You what, Sam?" Dean was angry, sure, but more than that he was hurt. Hurt that his Sammy hadn't come to him. That he had had to find out like that, from his father. Dean hated feeling like that. "You just woke up one day and said to yourself: Hey, I'm going to abandon my family and leave everything I know behind."

"I'm not abandoning you, Dean. I'm just going to college. Besides, I can come back and visit. There's always Christmas and..."

"Oh no, no you don't Sam," said John, suddenly back in the conversation again. "If you're going to go, then stay gone."

Sam flinched at the finality in John's tone and looked to Dean. He begged Dean with his eyes; to say something, anything to stop this from happening. Because Sam knew that if he left like this he could never come back.

"Dean," he entreated as he stepped closer. "I need you to understand. I..."

"Oh, I understand all right," Dean shouted as he interrupted Sam. "I understand perfectly." He looked Sam right in the eyes. "Get out."

Whatever Sam expected from Dean it wasn't that. He stared in shock as Dean opened the door and gestured toward it.

"Just go, Sam. Take the Chevy and just go."

Sam wanted to fight, to scream, to beg, but he didn't. He saw the set faces of Dean and John and headed upstairs. He grabbed two duffels from his closet and started tossing things into them. His clothes, his books, his weapons, they all went into the duffels.

Tears leaked out of the corners of Sam's eyes as he took one last look at his room. He swiped the tears away and took in a deep, shuddering breath. He squared his shoulder and went back down the stairs. He made his way past John and Dean, looking them both defiantly in the eye before leaving through the open door.

He popped the trunk and tossed his things in. He stalked over to the driver's side and got into the car. Buckling his seatbelt and turning the key in the ignition he peeled down the driveway.

As he turned onto the interstate Sam made a promise to himself:

I'll never let myself be vulnerable again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~