Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own the show, the boys, or the network. Don't hate, don't sue =)

Spoilers: Pilot

Another warning: This is about Sam telling John that he wants to go to college, so I guess you all know it's not going to be fluffy and lighthearted ;)

Here I go, quoting the Journal back to you:

"Sam gets resentful and has some trouble handling his temper. Dean tries to fix everything and keep us together as a team. Neither of them should have to do those things." (p.86)

"I can't blame him for wanting a normal life, but I wouldn't be much of a dad if I didn't prepare them for the world they're living in. Doing what's right for your kids doesn't always mean doing what they want. (p.100)

I'd like to thank my wonderful Beta: Jennifer, I can't thank you enough for holding my hand through this ^^

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So what could you possibly say to make that alright?

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I try to say goodbye and I choke
I try to walk away and I stumble
Though I try to hide it it's clear
My world crumbles when you are not near

I Try- Macy Gray

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Dean woke from his father's peremptory tone.

He hadn't used that on him for over a year, didn't ask much of Dean anymore. Didn't have to.

Run four miles in the morning, then practice your moves, then take Sammy to school… then breakfast.
Well, over the years taking Sam to school had changed into watching him round the first corner and then taking off to wherever Dean managed to find work,
and breakfast had turned into whatever greasy, artery-clogging junk his co-workers were having.

Sparring and running had stayed the same, though and so did the feeling of being responsible for his little brother.

It was all so engrained in him that some mornings he practically woke up running. He liked the predictability of this. No matter where they were going, some things just never changed.

Except now his father's face was only a couple of inches away from his own, barking something Dean quickly realized were death threats, John's expression hovering between rage and fear. Fear?

He looked around for Sam, scrambling to get up from where he'd sunken into the cushions. He should've called Sam again before he crashed on the big leather easy chair yesterday,
but he'd been dead beat, the three steps that separated him from the phone had posed an insurmountable obstacle.

He'd worked overtime to haul in some money – they had sort of a permanent residence here, so hustling pool was impossible and temp jobs at the garage didn't pay too well.
Besides, Sam had told him he'd be home late and not to worry, so that's what Dean did. 'Cause he was an awesome brother like that.

.

He avoided John's glare as he crouched next to his brother and scrutinized him. Sam was officially shitfaced, he lay there spread-eagle, bangs plastered to his sweaty forehead, mouth half-open and actually drooling.

"Dontcha think I woulda done that by now?" John growled.

"No offence, sir, but that mood you're in… I just wanted to check on him myself."

John scowled and took a step back to give Dean proper access to his brother. "He's so drunk he fell off the couch! I remember telling you to watch his back!"

"I thought… I just didn't-" Dean averted his gaze and slowly stood, bracing himself for whatever comeback John could muster.

"Yeah, now look what's come of it!" John brusquely interrupted.

Dean flinched and ducked his head. Dad was right of course, indulging Sam had always meant exposing him to danger.
He should have told him to come home, to bring Sandy with him if he wanted to. He'd just wanted Sam to have a little downtime, give him some choices of his own.

"If something like this happens again, I'm not above going back to leaving you both with Bobby when I'm on hunts. You understand me, son?"

"Yessir." Dean nodded, not meeting his father's eyes.

"So what happened?"

Dean licked his lips. "I don't really know. He said he needed to go back to school for some science project and he'd be back late. I called him when he wasn't here for dinner and he said he'd stay at Sandy's, so…"

"So you're telling me you didn't hear him coming home like this?"
John nudged Sam's arm with the tip of his boot and Sam didn't move at all.

Dean cast down his eyes and nodded again. "I took two shifts at the garage and I called him from work so I thought he'd just stayed at her place. I just-"

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John laid a hand on his son's shoulder, firm but surprisingly gentle.
"Look, Dean, I know how he can be. Once he starts begging, you just wanna give in- but you can't let him wander off alone like that. He doesn't even know what's after him."

Dean nodded.

"Sorry for wakin' you up there," he said, trying to let his rumbling voice sound soothing. Dean managed a smile and took the peace offering.

Stepping back, John release Dean's shoulder and took a long look at his son.
"You been keeping up your training while I was gone?"

"Yessir."

"Sammy been 'causing you any trouble?"

"No, sir."

John nodded and looked around the room. Everything was tidy, the floor seemed scrubbed. The place looked even better than when they'd moved in.
The house was tiny, but it was the first place they'd stayed in for longer than four months in a row over the past three years.
Sam had wrenched a promise from him to stay here until he graduated. He hadn't exactly liked his son's idea, but Sam had sugarcoated it by promising longer training hours and backing them up on every hunt that came their way.

"Help me get him back on the couch?" John asked. He hadn't expected to see Sam down and out.
Out of the two of them, Dean was the one who'd get drunk occasionally – he couldn't exactly blame his sons, though.
With the life they lead, they had to blow off some steam every once in a while.

"Sure." Together they heaved Sam on the bed, Dean taking his feet and John supporting his shoulders.
"Damn, Sam is heavy. I wonder where he puts that. He's still so skinny."

Dean was thankful Sam was just dead meat for now, 'cause he always got riled when John talked about him not building up as easily as Dean had when he was younger. Everything seemed to be just a tad more complicated with Sam.
Dean just grew and built muscles, Sam grew and got cramps and growing aches and developed weird habits like checking whether he could still touch his thumb to his pinkie around his own wrist.

Dean went to school, did his chores and dropped out when it was time.
Sam went to school, fell in love with books and of course his elementary school teacher, Mrs. Swan, always tried finishing school projects when they had to leave for the next town.
While Dean, even when he got blindingly drunk, always managed to go to bed and stay in there - Sam had to fall out to prove his point.

John went to unpack his duffle and talked away about how the werewolf he had tracked already had someone on his heels, namely Caleb, whom John had almost mistaken for another member of the pack as he'd moved in the dark of the woods.
Fortunately, against his usual motto of 'shoot first, ask questions later' he hadn't shot his friend because he kept thinking of Sam telling him he'd never actually seen any proof that weres hunt in packs.

After he'd stowed everything away, John sat him down in the kitchen and brewed coffee for himself and Dean.
He spread a map and explained exactly where the wolf had been and how it had marked its territory.

"Do you remember that were in Montana? You took it head-on, took it out in less than three seconds after it'd crossed the wolfsbane."

Dean nodded; he still remembered the feeling of standing in the wolf's line of attack. He hadn't been thinking clearly, it'd been a reflex, the were had been homing in on the direction where the Impala was parked, Sam locked inside.

"That's when I knew you'd come into your own as a hunter. Been waiting for that moment with Sam ever since."

Dean cringed at that. Dad just kept comparing them, but Sam wasn't like him and he shouldn't be. Sam wasn't a killer.

"He can hunt down anything he put's his mind to, but he's of a different stamp. I know you don't wanna hear it, but that has to change."

"Dad."

John stood up and started rooting around in the kitchen cabinets, checking on the stocks.
"Did I leave you enough this time?"

Dean nodded absently but focused on his little brother in the living room, who was muttering away in his sleep.
John probably couldn't understand it, but Dean was tuned in on Sasquatch-speech. After a slurred "gonna kill me" which was vaguely familiar to Dean, followed a long silence and then something about "law school" and "Greyhound".

Dean went rigid; his heart pounding in a weird staccato.

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I was REALLY unsure about this story, so please leave a review and tell me what you think =)