Title: Higher Education
Beta: Nope. Sorry.

Notes: For Missa, with much love. You're always right beside me when I dive into a new fandom and you give me impetus to write. I love you, dear!

i.
The first time that Sam is swamped with the overwhelming feeling of despair is when he is sixteen and he realizes that there isn't anything more than hunting. At least not in John Winchester's world. It doesn't matter how badly Sam wants to do something else, something that would be labeled with the cursed terminology of 'normal'. John and, by extension, Dean refused to believe that it wasn't normal that Sam craved, it was safety.

Sam had just brought home the latest report card with straight A's; it was carelessly discarded on the small end table in the living area of their latest low rent apartment. It was looking like they might spend the entire school year here, something Sam was starting to see as a bad thing. Other children, he knew, had proud parents who would excitedly receive such a report card. John barely looked at it, just long enough to sign his painfully neat signature at the bottom and to notice if the teacher's remarks in any way indicated that Sam might be drawing undue attention on their family.

When it was obvious that there was nothing for John to worry about, the report card was tossed aside in favor of combing through various newspapers and sipping on slightly warm beer. Eventually, the beer ran out and the papers panned no new leads so John packed up the research and wandered out to the local bar. Dean was still out, either with friends or a new girlfriend.

What was becoming clear to Sam in the deepening twilight was that he was never going to have a chance to do anything other than this. He couldn't understand why this was such a problem for him, Dean didn't chafe at the yoke that their father placed on them. His brother was always more than willing to follow in their father's footsteps. Sam was the odd one for thinking about other things. For thinking about college, for wanting a new and different life.

Sam thought about broaching the subject but knew instinctively that it would only end in yet another shouting match. Ever since he started butting heads with his father, Dean would watch him with cool, calculating eyes. That hurt almost more than the palpable weight of John's disappointment. Sam mentally shook himself and went back to reading the assigned homework, despair still batting at his ribcage like trapped ravens.

ii.
Sam pulled out the carefully hidden application and stared at it thoughtfully. It was just to take the SAT's, but he knew that it was really the first step in a life away from hunting. Away from his family. Who would never allow Sam to get his hopes up with this foolish nonsense. John had gone into the military straight from high school, Dean had been indoctrinated into hunting, why should Sam want anything else? With a huffing sigh, Sam tore the application to shreds. There was no way he'd be able to justify it.

Two days later, Sam barged into the ramshackle apartment still filled with disgust at himself. He should have just done it, consequences be damned. What was the worst John could do? Leave him? Sam doubted it. Still…

On the kitchen table was a box of granola bars on top of a brown paper bag. Dean was going through some healthy snack phase; at least, Dean felt that Sam should have a healthy after school snack. Sam's brother still dined on such gourmet foods as chili fries, buffalo wings, and garbage pizza. However, Sam was now denied these delicacies in favor of low fat or high fiber alternatives. Or fruit. Neither were terribly appealing.

With disdain, Sam tipped the box off of the bag and dumped out the sack's contents. What he saw made his throat constrict uncomfortably and his heart pound. There were two books on prepping for the SAT's and a Xeroxed copy of the schedule for the tests at his high school. One of the dates and times was circled. At the top of the page, in Dean's nearly illegible scrawl, were three words.

Need a lift

iii.

His eyes were prickling hotly and Sam wondered if the hollow feeling of abandonment was ever going to fade. A full fucking ride to Stanford and the best John could muster up was if you're going, don't come back? Most parents would be proud. Hell, most parents would be fucking ecstatic. Dean had just stood there, slouching, looking uncomfortable during the latest explosive argument between father and youngest son.

Couldn't Dean just say something? Sam knew that Dean had wheedled John into sticking around this hick town for way longer than the Winchester patriarch had wanted, just so that Sam could finish school and have a permanent address to have his SAT scores sent to. Which Sam never would have taken in the first place if Dean hadn't interfered. Which, if Sam were being fair, was pretty big all on its own.

Thank the powers that be that Sam had had the foresight to pack his meager belongings and have them waiting outside their apartment. His life fit into three duffle bags, Sam wasn't sure how to feel about that. He was free now, so why did he feel so horrible?

With what casual indifference he could muster, Sam shouldered his bags and began walking toward the bus station. He had a little over fourteen hundred dollars in his pocket, courtesy of a job at a movie theater for the past six months. It should be enough to get him settled and give a small cushion before he needed to find work again. The bright, hot feeling in the back of his eyes was returning.

Behind him, Sam heard the familiar growl of the Impala. He stopped on and waited for Dean to pull up beside him, maybe John had changed his mind.

Dean leaned over and popped open the passenger door, his face a mask. No, Sam should have known that John wouldn't bend his final ultimatum, not even for one of his sons. Sam watched as Dean's face split in a rictus of his normal cocky grin.

The ride was silent, Dean staring at the road and Sam staring at the dashboard. A light rain was pattering down, making the world look grey. At the station, Sam cleared his throat and turned his gaze toward his brother. He didn't know what to say, didn't know what he could say that wouldn't cause another fight. He wanted this goodbye to be different.

Without a sound, Dean got out of the car and grabbed two of Sam's bags. Sam unfolded his lanky body from the front seat and took the duffles from his brother, his face twisting with unsaid words.

"Do good, Sammy," Dean said roughly, his eyes not quite making contact with Sam. With undue awkwardness Dean leaned over and gave Sam a quick hug before turning and getting back into his car.

The gesture had been so unlike Dean that Sam reached into his jacket pocket, wondering what Dean couldn't just hand to him. There was a small leather bag, probably filled with protective herbs; a vial of salt; and a wad of bills. On the back of the top most bill was Dean's distinctive handwriting. A goofy grin crossed Sam's face as he read and re-read the words.

For books, college boy.