Hey guys. Back with another Supernatural fic. Not SLASH! Just an english short story that I'm posting here. It's about Sam going to Stanford. Doesn't really have a plot but oh well. Ignore that. Please review! Tell me about any mistakes. And I don't really care about when Sam goes to Stanford or anything. I don't know a heck of a lot about going to college in America and stuff like that so anything to do with mistakes about schooling and college are to be ignored.
Sam checked the mailbox with happiness that was probably abnormal for someone of eighteen years. The fact that he was returning to a house that was so permanent that it had a mailbox was a novelty for him. John Winchester forced them to move constantly. Wherever there was a supernatural hunt was where they would go. The three of them, Sam, Dean and John were hunters, fighting the supernatural evil that sprouted from the vast underworld. John and Dean were happiest when they were in a haunted house, sawed-off in their hands and salt rounds loaded in their guns and pockets. Sam on the other hand, was quite happy to go to school and spend his afternoons studying hard. He was going to make it to college and become a lawyer, leave the hunting life behind him. All he wanted was a normal life.
There was no mail to be collected today, a fact which Sam noticed with sadness and despair. He had applied to a range of colleges several months ago and was anxiously awaiting a response from Stanford Law. Already he had received letters of polite rejection from Michigan State, Minnesota, Florida, Arizona and Ohio. His hopes for a future outside hunting, credit-card scams and diner-food were slipping through his fingers like smoke.
Sighing, Sam walked to the door of the derelict house his father had rented while he was chasing a Black Dog. The wood-panelled house was in desperate need of a paintjob, it's once white paint now grey and cracked, peeling from the walls in chunks twice the size of Sam's hand. As Sam walked up the three rickety steps they bent under his weight and the porch groaned as he trekked across it, cautious and wondering, as he always did when he walked across the wide porch, whether today would be the day he fell through the decking. Sliding his key into the lock, Sam was careful not to disturb the salt lines that covered the doorway. The door creaked eerily when he opened it. Blinking and trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden darkness inside the house, Sam shut the door behind him.
"Dean?" he called, hoping that his brother wasn't at a bar getting drunk beyond the point of stupid because of his last hunt. 'Perhaps,' Sam thought sarcastically, 'He's decided to do something to break routine and buried himself in a few women.'
"Sammy? 'S that you?" Dean's rough voice slurred from the couch. Sam sighed for what seemed the hundredth time that day. Dean had decided to get drunk at home instead. Joy.
Sam dropped his bag by the door and walked into the lounge room, wincing at the loudness of his boots against the floorboards. He crouched beside the couch, looking at Dean.
"Yeah, it's me." He murmured quietly, taking the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel's from his brother's lax grip and placing it beside the empty bottle on the table.
Dean was a wreck. Sweat dripped from the man's forehead and down his face, mixing with quickly drying tears. Unfocused sea-blue eyes were pointed in his direction, but Sam knew that his older brother only saw his blurred outline. Dean's shirt was damp with sweat and spilt alcohol, which told Sam that his brother had been drinking for a good four hours. When Dean breathed out, Sam scrunched his nose and moved his face back a little, repulsed by the sickly sweet smell of whiskey.
"Come on, De," Sam muttered, grabbing Dean under the arm and attempting to pull him to his feet. Dean slapped Sam's hand away.
"Jus' leave me be," Dean slurred angrily. "You gonna anyway." Sam blinked.
"What do you mean?" he questioned. "I'm not leaving you here like this. I need to get you in the shower." Dean sat up quickly, anger twisting his mouth into the beginnings of a snarl. Groaning, the elder male clutched his head and swayed before leaning back against the couch. Sam shook his head, hooking his arms under his brother and lifting him to his feet. Dean swayed unsteadily and pressed his hands against his little brother's chest to try and stand properly. Sam smiled slightly, knowing that his brother had to be really drunk to willingly use him as support.
The half-smile was wiped from his face as Dean let out a choked cough before vomiting all down Sam's front. Groaning, Sam refused to look at the remains of whatever burger Dean had eaten for lunch and carefully manoeuvred Dean to the bathroom. He stripped off his shirts after placing Dean in the bottom of the bath and turning the shower on. Dean leant his bead against the floral tiles that lined the walls and moaned pitifully. Sam shook his head, used to the drunkenness of both his brother and father.
Crouching beside the bath, Sam set to work on getting his brother clean and significantly more sober.
It was morning by the time Dean woke up. His head throbbed when he made any sort of movement and his eyes stung in protest at the sunshine that filtered through the threadbare curtains that hung at the window. He was about to roll over and go to sleep when he caught the scent of cooking bacon. It was then that he heard the sounds of Sam moving around the kitchen. Smiling and suddenly thanking whatever deity existed that he had a baby brother, Dean struggled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom.
When he made it to the kitchen, Sam had placed bacon, sausages and scrambled eggs on a plate for him. Alongside it was a glass of orange juice and two aspirin. He gratefully swallowed the pills and dug into his breakfast. Halfway through, Sam walked in and laughed before heading to the shower.
Sitting back and patting his full stomach, Dean concluded that Sam was officially his favourite little brother.
He looked around the small house, his gaze turning to the lounge room and the half-finished bottle of Jack Daniel's on the table. Frowning, Dean caught sight of an opened letter sitting on the coffee table. It was different to the other letters sitting beside it. Even from the kitchen table Dean could tell that it wasn't stamped with the red, angry letters that told him it was a bill. His headache now gone due to the tablets, Dean had no trouble moving from the kitchen to the couch, the letter clutched in his hand once he reached there.
Growing anxious from the moment he saw the words 'Sam Winchester' and 'accepted', Dean knew the reason for the half-empty bottle of Jack, and its empty brother on the table. His baby brother had a full-ride to Stanford. And he knew for sure that Sammy wasn't going to pass that up. Sam had always wanted to be normal and in a sudden burst of rage, Dean threw the letter away, angrily wanting to keep Sam from leaving him. His hand instinctively reached for the bottle and he took a swig, the liquid leaving a pleasant burn as it went down.
Sam exited the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his shoulders as he walked to the kitchen in his boxers. His tanned skin glistened with water-droplets as he surveyed the scene. Dean's empty plate sat on the table, and Sam could see the back of his brother's head as he sat on the lounge. As Sam watched, Dean tipped back his head with a bottle of amber whiskey to his lips and took a big gulp.
Knowing that something was severely wrong with Dean, Sam ignored the fact that his instincts told him to stay put and went to Dean. He walked around in front of his brother, looking at the elder while Dean glared back.
A piece of paper caught Sam's eye and he turned, picking it up. His mouth dropped as he read the words written. The letter slipped from his fingers and Sam turned to look back at Dean.
"Dean, I don-"
"You gonna leave me?" Dean asked gruffly. "You just gonna run away? Leave me and Dad behind?" He took another drink from the bottle.
"No, Dean. That's not it. I just want to go to school."
"That's not school!" Dean spat. "It's college! Where you go and don't come back."
"I might," Sam supplied meekly. Dean opened his mouth to retort, but heavy footsteps interrupted. The steps protested, the porch whined their discomfort and the door squealed as it was swung open. This was how John Winchester made his presence known. The broad-shouldered man walked into the kitchen and dropped his bag. Stopping and turning, John slowly looked at his boys. He looked at Sam, his youngest son who looked ready to bolt from the room. Then he looked at Dean who was well on his way to opening another bottle of whiskey.
"What's going on?" the ex-Marine thundered, walking into the lounge room. Sam ducked his head, 'nothing, sir' just barely whispered from his lips. Dean held out the letter. John read it, his face turning redder with every line. By the time he had finished, John's hands were shaking as he tore the paper to pieces and burnt it using a lighter that was fished from his pocket.
"No," John said simply. Sam stiffened.
"I wasn't asking permission, sir."
"I said no, Samuel!" John shouted. "You think you can just walk out like that? After all I've done for you?"
"What have you done for me?! What have you ever done for me?" Sam screamed. "You're never home! Dean's the one who's raise me. Does that make you a father? You're more like a drill sergeant. Ever since mum was killed-" Sam was cut off by John's fist against his cheek. Sam staggered back, clutching his cheek. "You-you hit me." He stammered.
"Yes, I did and I'll do it again if you ever speak like that to me again." Growled John, keeping one fist raised in the air. Sam backed away before getting to his feet and running to his room. The door slammed, shaking the walls of the house. Dean could hear the sound of his brother packing, and John snatched the bottle of Jack Daniel's from Dean's hand, drinking the last of the bottle in one gulp.
Five minutes later, the youngest Winchester walked down the hallway, his duffel holding all his possessions clutched in one hand. Dean rested his head in his hands and tried to ignore the world. John glared at his youngest son.
"If you take go out that door, I'm not taking you back."
"What makes you think I want to come back?" Sam asked darkly. John snapped.
"Do you hear me, Samuel Winchester? You walk out that door, don't you ever come back!"
"I heard you loud and clear," Sam muttered, and he left.
"The bus depot isn't open 'til Monday. I'll give him until then to rethink these reckless decisions." And with that, John went to his room, leaving Dean on the couch, staring thoughtfully at the blank television screen. He knew as well his father did that Sam wasn't coming back. Sam was as stubborn as a mule and had a kick like one to boot. With a groan, Dean hauled himself from the couch and walked to his room.
Sam looked up in surprise when he heard the roar of the Impala. He was sitting at the bus shelter, icy wind cutting into his hands and cheeks. He had only been there for an hour. Peering into the window, he saw Dean in the driver's seat, beckoning him impatiently with his hand. From the look on his brother's face, Sam knew that it was not a trick.
He opened the car door and slid into the passenger side of the bench seat. Dean gave a small smile and wrapped his arm gently around Sam's shoulders before putting it back on the wheel and pushing the accelerator. There were several bags of candy on the bench seat between them and when he looked in the foot-well, Sam saw a great many cans of Coke. Dean gave him another small smile when Sam asked what was with all the candy and drinks.
"Well," Dean said, turning to grin at Sam. "It's a long drive to Palo Alto isn't it?" Sam gaped at him.
"You're taking me to Stanford?" He asked in disbelief. Dean gave him a look.
"You haven't changed your mind have you?" Dean asked, making Sam frantically shake his head. "Well, then, that means I have to come along. Have to help you pick your apartment and perform the wards. Wouldn't want my baby brother getting killed by some supernatural evil, now would I?"
Sam smiled.
"No," He mused. "I suppose you wouldn't." He rested his head against the window, watching the world go by. He knew how hard it would have been for Dean to go against their father and he was extremely grateful. Dean doing this for him showed just how much his older brother cared about him, and just how much he felt the need to protect Sam. As Sam watched the countryside rush past him, he knew that no matter how many arguments they had, Dean was always looking out for him.