Chapter 1

Sam never imagined it was going to happen like this.

Never like this.

He always used to picture it in his head; what the circumstances would be when he, his brother, and his father finally saw each other again; what would be said about him "deserting" them to go to Stanford.

It usually went like this: Sam calling every single one of his brother Dean's many cell phones in the hopes that he'll actually pick up, which is about as easy as trying to single-handedly stop a moving semi. Sam doesn't know if Dean is too impatient to check all of his phones, or if he just knows it's Sam calling and that's why he doesn't answer. Knowing his brother though, it's probably more likely to be the latter than the former, which puts a knot in Sam's stomach.

Anyways, eventually Dean will get around to answering a phone (after an hour of attempts; probably beginning to annoy the shit out of him) and pick up with "Agent Kelly speaking, what can I do for ya?"

"Dude, I know that you know it's me."

"Sam," Dean would answer coldly. Sam could just see Dean's classic sourpuss pout he would begin to wear on his face. "What the hell do you want?"

"Well, I was just wondering if, maybe…" Sam would begin nervously, "you wouldn't mind coming up here to see-"

"And what sort of freak do you think it would take to possess me to do that? Get lost Sam, since you've more than shown you're damn good at it."

Click. The dial tone would begin to play, and Sam would be left with nothing but a bad taste in his mouth.

But even still, Dean would show up on his apartment doorstep less than a week later. Depending on the day, Dad will show up with Dean or he'll be off on a hunt somewhere. Not like Sam would care either way; he couldn't give two shits about his old man.

Then the inevitable arguing would ensue, the words "betrayal" and "daddy's good little soldier" being thrown around like gunfire. Dean would then throw a hissy fit and leave, tires peeling out in the driveway, without giving Sam time to explain while he tries to gets his head on straight, which always happens, and it's one thing about his brother that really pisses him off.

Or when Sam's in a particularly good mood, he imagines him and Dean just hugging it out, but that doesn't occur too often. Fat chance Dean would even let that happen; it would hurt his manly ego too much.

Nevertheless, no matter what Sam imagined their family reunion would be like, he never thought that this would be it.

He finds himself thinking that as he's peering down at his Dad's dead body, lying in a makeshift wooden casket in the middle of Bobby Singer's fucking junker-lot. Sam doesn't even know what happened; he just got the call from Bobby that morning saying his Dad was dead. He wanted to vomit, and nearly did after he hung up the phone. Oddly enough though, he wasn't all that upset about his father dying. Instead, what he was worried about was his brother. Dean looked up to the man in an almost God-like adoration. The way Dean's eyes shined when Dad praised him was hard to miss. It was also hard to miss the extreme hurt in those deep green eyes when Dad put him down, something that happened far too much for Sam's liking, and it just made him hate the man that much more. It was like Dean wasn't happy unless he felt that he was living up to Dad's unrealistic expectations, and it made Sam sick with anger. Every time he tried to call Dean out on it the conversation would normally end with a fist coming towards his face, until eventually he learned to just not bring it up anymore. Whatever; if his brother wanted to do that to himself, it wasn't his problem.

Except that it was.

Dean was all that Sam had growing up. Hell, he's still all that he has, and Sam can't help but feeling that he royally fucked that up. He had no choice; he had to leave, get away from their Dad. Dean didn't look at it that way though. No, he looked at it as abandonment on Sam's part, like Sam was leaving to get away from him, not Dad. Which wasn't true at all.

When Dad would be gone for weeks at a time, and dump the boys off in some one-star motel, who cared for Sam? Who looked after him, made him food (even though half the time it was burnt, but Sam didn't care), gave him driving lessons, and most importantly, kept him safe? It wasn't their father; that much is for sure.

These thoughts kept rushing through his mind as he looked down at his dead father, wishing his face would've always been that calm, instead of permanently stuck in that "I'm going to kill you" position.

Sam looked around at the few people gathered there. There was Bobby Singer of course, dressed in his usual button down flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. There were a few guys who Sam presumed were friends Dad gained while working in the family business, which was hunting ghosts, demons, anything along those lines. Other than that, there was no one else except for…

He glanced over at the black, '67 Chevy Impala parked in front of Bobby's house, and saw his brother leaning against it, arms folded in his brown leather jacket, wearing that scowl on his face like always. Before he could stop himself, Sam began to slowly walk over to his brother, although he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say to him when he reached him. He's probably going to kick himself in the ass for this later, but right now he just wants to talk to his brother, whether Dean is willing or not, because he can't be handling this very well. Knowing his brother, Dean's going to keep this bottled up inside of him and let it eat away at his insides until he finally bursts.

Dean notices Sam's presence and immediately begins to stiffen, awkwardly glancing in every direction and scratching the back of his head. Then he sticks his hands in his pockets, looking in the opposite direction.

"Hey, Dean," Sam says to him, when he finally reaches the car.

Dean, after a long, awkward silence, finally looks at Sam with hurtful eyes.

"Go to hell, Sam."

With that, Dean gets into the car and peels out, leaving Sam standing dumbfounded in a cloud of dust.

That went well.