"Do you think that's why Dad never left us?" Sam asked as they drove away from Henry's grave.
"Huh?" Dean frowned, pulled from his own thoughts.
"Dad never left us." Sam said softly.
"Dude, how hard did Abaddon hit you on the head?" Dean rolled his eyes. "Dad left us all the freaking time. You've spent the majority of your life complaining about it."
"But he always came back." Sam turned to look at his brother. "It would have been much easier on him if he had left us with someone, long term, or put us in foster care or something. But he didn't. He kept us with him, and even when he had to leave for a job, he called almost every night and he would finish a job and drive straight back to us. Do you think it was because his dad left him?"
Dean hesitated before answering. "I always thought it was because he felt like it was the only way to keep us safe. He didn't trust anyone else to take care of us. The demon that killed Mom," Dean glanced over. "It was in your room. He was always afraid that something was coming after you. That's why he always told me to watch out for you. He told me that after you went to Stanford."
"He did?" Sam frowned."I always thought he dumped me on you because he didn't want to be bothered, or maybe because he blamed me for Mom's death."
"No," Dean sighed. "You have no idea. He came pretty close to drinking himself to death the first week you were gone. He was in a panic that something would come after you, now that you were alone."
"He did?" Sam repeated, looking puzzled. "What happened after that?"
Dean paused long enough that Sam was about to speak again when his brother finally answered. "I made him realize that he and I trained you, that you could handle pretty much anything that came at you. And I promised him that nothing had changed as far I was concerned. I was still going to watch over you."
Sam's lip curled. "I knew I saw you parked outside the dorm on my birthday freshman year."
"I was there at least once a month, Sam." Dean confirmed softly. "Except for that one time I got hurt down in Florida and you flew out to see me."
"The whole four years?" Sam's eyes widened.
"Yeah," Dean answered barely above a whisper.
"Dean ... " Sam trailed off, not sure what to say.
Dean stared at the road in front of him and gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white.
Forty miles later, Dean spoke again. "But what you said about Dad and Hen ... his dad? That makes a lot of sense. Dad may not have even realized it himself."
"Yeah," Sam agreed.
Nothing else was said that night, except discussion of when and where they were stopping to rest.
A/N - The two mentions of times Sam and Dean saw each other during the Stanford years in the story come from my other stories Two Years Gone and So Close No Matter How Far.