Happy Ending

AN: I hope you enjoy this first part of this story. Unfortunately I am a very busy girl and have no idea when I will have the second half posted. Let's pray for soon:)

I'm not going to live this life forever…I'm not going to live this life forever…I'm not going to live this life forever…

Sam's words of the previous day echoed in Dean's head. After the Daeva attack, John had left and Dean and Sam ended up here in this motel room. With far too much time to think.

When they'd shown up battered and bruised as they were the night clerk stared at them, mouth gaping.

"We need a room," Dean growled huskily. The night clerk's mouth immediately snapped shut and he handed the room key over to Dean, his hand shaking.

Now Sam was in the shower and Dean lay stretched out on one of the beds, staring numbly up at the ceiling, his mind fixed on what Sam had said. He thought about talking to Sam about how he was feeling, but he immediately scrapped that idea. He'd already tried telling Sam how he felt and been slapped in the face with the reality of his little brother leaving him again one day.

Dean suddenly realized what he needed to do. He needed to beat his brother to the punch. The decision made, he quickly got to his feet, scribbled a short note on the motel stationary, grabbed his stuff and booked.

Twenty minutes later Sam emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and steam billowing about his shoulders, escaping out into the living area.

"Dean?" he called, quickly realizing that his older brother wasn't there. He didn't panic, noticing a note left for him on the roll top desk.

Clapton- (Sammy)

Went to pick up some food. Back in a bit.

Love,

Morrison (Dean)

Sam smiled at the nicknames Dean had used. Ever the classic rock lover. Knowing his brother would return soon, Sam grabbed his clothes and went back into the bathroom to change.

Dean had been driving close to half-an-hour when his phone rang. He checked the caller ID. It was Sam.

"Dammit," he muttered, shutting off the phone. He wasn't about to talk to his brother who would inevitably convince him to come back so they could do the whole 'sharing and caring' bit. With Sam that was one of the things that got old pretty damn fast. Dean was through talking. Sam wanted to go back to Stanford so badly? Well, Dean wasn't about to stand in his way.

Sam hung up his phone in frustration. He ran a hand through his still damp hair.

"Dammit," he grumbled in annoyance at not being able to get in touch with his brother. He should've been back by now. Or at least called. Sam thought running his hand through his hair again, his brow creasing in concern. His heart pounding, he opened the motel room door and headed out to the parking lot. The space that should've held Dean's precious Impala was empty. The car was gone. But that didn't necessarily mean anything. His older brother was practically glued at the hip to the thing. He probably took it when he went out to get them food. Trying to calm his racing heartbeat, Sam went back into their room. He stretched out on the bed closest to the door, staring at the ceiling. A thought suddenly occurring to him, he sat up like a shot. Winchester, you're an idiot. Dean never signed things 'love' anybody. Not unless… He quickly clambered off the bed and began searching through their things. Dean had taken everything he owned and left Sam by himself. Swallowing down the lump that was rapidly clawing its way up his throat, Sam struggled to gather his thoughts. What to do? What to do?