Based on the part in Season 2 Episode 22 All Hell Breaks Loose Pt 2 when Bobby asks Dean how he thinks Sam will feel when he finds out about the deal and Dean asks Bobby to keep it a secret from Sam. So what if Sam hadn't pressed Dean for the truth in the cemetery? What if he never knew about the deal?
On the drive back to Bobby's, Sam catches Dean staring at him. Despite the wind whipping at his hair from the open windows, and the music blasting out of the radio, and the bounce of Bobby's headlights in the rear view mirror, Sam still notices. It's not uncommon for Dean to glance over every now and then, ghost of a smile curling the corners of his lips. But this is more than usual and it seems to Sam that Dean is spending more time looking at him than he is at the road and wouldn't that suck? To defeat their lifelong enemy only to wrap themselves around a tree less than an hour later? He almost tells Dean to cut it out, to stop looking at him and pay attention to where they're going but they did just defeat their lifelong enemy and the high is still rushing through Sam and he's feeling light and giddy and maybe a little shocked too, so he let's it go, doesn't comment. Dean killed the Yellow-Eyed Demon. He's earned the right to stare at whatever he wants to stare at.
They arrive at Bobby's house and they all head inside and they drink. How else do hunters celebrate? They drink and drink and for once, Sam joins in because the sword that's been hanging over his head for years is finally gone and there's no more demon, no more threat, no more fear of going dark side. He drinks so much he nearly passes out right there at the kitchen table, sandwiched between Dean, and Bobby at the head, Ellen facing him and all of them smiling, smiling, smiling. His last conscious memory is Dean hefting a shoulder under his arm and dragging him up the stairs.
He wakes in the spare bedroom with the kind of hangover that makes him wish Jake really had finished him off. There's a bottle of water and a handful of painkillers on the nightstand. After taking a few minutes or hours, who cares it's not like he's on a timetable anymore, to mentally prepare himself to face the rest of the day, he stumbles downstairs to a stack of pancakes and a pot of strong brewed coffee. Bobby and Ellen are seated at the desk in the study, poring over maps, lore books spread around them. Dean is nowhere to be seen but then again, if Sam's hangover is this bad, he can only imagine what Dean must be going through.
However, a glance out the front window shows the Impala is gone. He asks and Bobby looks guilty so it's Ellen who finally tells him that Dean got an early start. Sam wants to be mad but that only ratchets up his nausea so he lets it go with a cleansing breath and heads off for a shower. His duffel, with all his clothes, as well as his messenger bag and laptop, and isn't it sad that that's all he owns, are set neatly in the guest room armchair. He hadn't noticed them when he got up but he notices after his shower and the anger is back and he stomps down the stairs like a freakishly overgrown toddler.
It's easy to corner Bobby, although Sam has enough manners left to wait for him to finish his phone call before interrogating the man for answers. What was Dean thinking? Where's he going? When did he leave? Why did he go without saying goodbye? Bobby's gruff and calm as he explains. Dean's going demon hunting and Sam made it very clear he wanted out after The Demon was gone so Dean's giving him that out. But he did leave a letter for Sam.
The letter is nothing more than the corner of an old newspaper, filled-in Sudoku puzzle gracing the bottom edge while a scrawled series of numbers sits above a hastily written 'take care of yourself, Sammy'.
Bobby's house has spotty internet coverage but Sam makes due. The numbers are actually a bank account. In Sam's name, though Sam knows he didn't open it and never made a single deposit. But there's money in it. Maybe not a lot compared to most people's standards but it's a still a sizable amount. Enough to cover college tuition. All his dreams come flooding back and Sam's speechless.
He spends the summer filing paperwork, exchanging phone calls with the Stanford Admissions Office, working a job downtown Sioux Falls to help with the cost of the textbooks he orders. The weeks fly by and he's surprised to find himself happy. For the first time in so long that he'd nearly forgotten what it feels like, he is happy. As long as he doesn't read anything beyond the local news. And leaves the room when Bobby takes a phone call. And doesn't let his mind wander to the brother who's been strangely absent all this time.
Before he knows it, it's time to head out to California. Classes start in less than a week. He's hauling boxes down the stairs, out to the porch and he's almost finished when the familiar growl of a V8 engine takes him by surprise. The autumn sun shouldn't look so bright but somehow it's blinding as it reflects off of pitch black chrome. With a creak, the driver's door opens and deposits a warrior on the tufts of brown grass by the porch stairs.
Dean still looks like Dean, albeit a Dean who's been beaten to crap recently. There's blood on his knuckles, a conspicuous scratch across his throat, and a blossoming bruise runs from his temple to his jaw. But he's smirking at Sam, the same smirk Sam grew up with and it's almost enough to distract him from his eyes. But not quite. And Sam doesn't recognize his eyes. There's something foreign in their depths, like a penny dropped down to the bottom of a well, only visible when the light hits it in just the right place or else you'd never know it was there.
He doesn't have the chance to comment on it. Dean loads the boxes into the backseat with a call to get moving, college boy. Sam says goodbye to Bobby, thanks him and then he's back in the passenger seat for one last ride. Surprisingly, Dean doesn't push the needle past ninety the whole way. He only does it once, down a long stretch of deserted asphalt in Nevada, just to hear Sam laugh. They take it easy, make frequent stops, no rush, no hurry.
Sometimes, Sam pretends to be asleep just to study Dean through squinted lashes. His covert surveys only lead him to the conclusion that Dean is more puzzling than ever. His brother is determined, rough, harder than he was when Sam last saw him. He's tightly wound, on edge. But, impossibly, at the same time, carefree, a little wild, reckless and living life in the moment. It's as if a weight has been taken off his shoulders but he's anticipating something worse. Sam doesn't know what to make of his findings.
Once he had found out he had been accepted back, Sam had contacted one of his old friends and although Marcus had already graduated, he lived nearby and was willing to let Sam rent the apartment with him. Dean pulls up to the curb and cranes his neck up at the building before giving it a nod, his stamp of approval. Marcus is at work when they arrive but he left the spare key for Sam. They unpack his things and stand in the middle of his new apartment, not knowing where to look or what to say.
When Sam tries to thank Dean, for the ride, for the money, for everything, Dean holds up a hand. No chick-flick moments. Sam laughs, says goodbye and thinks that's the end of it when Dean turns for the door. But then Dean is back across the room and yanking him into a hug so tight his ribs bend with the pressure and Dean's fingers fist the back of his shirt and Dean's breath is heavy on his neck, rhythm off and too quick and it's starting to scare Sam. Then Dean pulls away, expression confident and cool and he's smirking and walking out the door. But Sam caught a glimpse of that penny, the secret in the depths of his eyes.
Old habits die hard but Sam's got a lot of practice killing things. He doesn't salt the windows anymore. He doesn't carry a silver pocket knife or keep an iron rod in the bottom of his backpack. The only things in there are the things he needs for the classes he's excelling in. It's nice being able to make friends. Friends that won't be murdered just for knowing him. He uses his real name and the only ID he carries is his own, a student badge that gets him into the library he's always been fond of.
Life is good and Sam meets a girl and he's not ready to take it to the next level but he likes her and she likes him and everything's going exactly how he dreamed it would. Things are on track in his life and he's going to be that lawyer with a wife and two point five kids. He's going to get that dog and the house with a white picket fence. He's living his apple pie life.
Until Dean shows up and ruins it. It's February, Valentine's Day no less, and Sam has plans for the evening with that girl that he likes who likes him and he's just getting out of his last class for the day, bounding down the entrance stairs with a group of friends when he spots Dean lurching toward him, trailing blood on the sidewalk and manicured lawn and carefully cultivated flowers. And he's right there in the open, people staring, watching the crazy man with the leather coat and the gaping wound in his stomach head directly for Sam, and they're going to know what kind of freak he is. They'll know about his strange family, his shadowed past, the hunting and the fear and everything Sam left behind. Anger bubbles up, hot and familiar, and his steps quicken and he intercepts Dean, drags him into the bushes to the side, out of sight. Dean grimaces but chuckles.
Sam doesn't laugh. He's missing his date for this. He swore he was done hunting and he means it this time, even more than last time. There's no demon gunning for him, no missing father, there's no reason to get back in. If Dean was hurt, he should have gone to the hospital. Dean says Sam was closer. Sam doesn't believe him. But Dean is still his brother and Sam hasn't forgotten everything that fast so he stitches him up, gives him the couch for a single night and then asks him to leave the next morning. Asks him to leave and not come back. Not until Dean's ready to leave the hunting life behind him. The mask slams into place so fast Sam's not sure he didn't hear a click when Dean's face goes blank and he holds a protective arm against his wounded abdomen. He goes, pausing in the doorway like he's going to say something. Never says a word. The door clicks shut.
There's a massive party being planned, by Sam and his friends, for the second week of May. Some of them are graduating. One couple is getting engaged. And it's Sam's birthday. So much to celebrate. It's something to look forward to, something to motivate him through the brutal exams, something to make the long nights and overwhelming stress worth it. He knows he's can pass. He only has to work for it, is all. Two days and he'll be done.
He's just getting out of the shower when his cell phone rings. The caller ID reveals it's Bobby. Probably just wants to check in, especially now, what with exams and all. But Bobby isn't checking in like he normally does. His voice is strained and full of panic, asking about Dean, if Sam's seen him. His tone is enough to set Sam on edge and his questions are stirring up a dormant ball of guilt in Sam's stomach. Bobby's panicked. If Bobby's panicked, it must be something truly terrifying. Sam can be stubborn when he wants to be and he wants to now, won't let Bobby go until he tells Sam the truth. So Bobby does. And the world turns upside down.
He steals a car and doesn't even feel guilty about it because what's auto theft compared to being the reason your brother is set to be dragged to Hell in less than forty-eight hours? The battery indicator on his cell phone blinks a warning at him but he presses the buttons one handed while he drives, dialing Dean for the hundredth time. No answer. He meets up with Bobby and they put their heads together to figure out where Dean is. The clock is running down and they're trying to find a needle that doesn't want to be found in a four million square miles of haystack.
Sam marks up maps. He searches for omens in news reports. Gets Ellen to put an APB out in the hunting community. Makes phone calls, checks databases, refuses to eat or sleep or take a break. Just when he's considering summoning a demon to interrogate it, his cell rings. Dean.
His tongue is a miserable lump in his mouth and his eyes are filling with tears and it doesn't feel quite real but it's truly happening. Dean's saying his farewells and Sam can't even see his face. There's a vice squeezing his heart and it's not beating right and he's sobbing, sobbing so loud he can barely hear Dean's voice, even though the phone is crushed to his ear and he jams a fist against his mouth to stifle the noise so he can hear Dean's apology, even though it's Sam's fault Dean is the one apologizing and Sam wishes he had known sooner, would have done anything to fix this, make it right, break the deal, the deal Dean never should have made, the one he didn't even tell Sam about because Dean always has and always will try to protect Sam and the hands on the clock on the wall are creeping horrifyingly close to midnight.
Dean tells him it's not his fault, even though it feels like it is, Sam knows it is. Makes him promise to graduate, to marry that girl he likes and have kids. To take care of himself and be happy. There's so much Sam has to-wants to-needs to say. He's fighting for breath, crumples to his knees in Bobby's study, tears and snot and regret all dripping down his face for the brother who raised him, who gave up everything, traded his soul for Sam's life. Sam wipes a shaky hand across his face, desperate, makes the mess worse, finds his voice and opens his mouth just as the clock starts to strike. The hounds are circling. Dean is going to be ripped to shreds. Dean will die alone and the only thing Sam will be able to do it listen to his screams. He chokes on his Dean's name.
"Goodbye, Sammy."
The call disconnects before the twelfth chime.