Can't See Heaven For All the Stars

Episodes: Though nominally the pilot, it also mixes up information we learn later in the season(s).

Title: I got the idea from the lyrics to "Count On Me" by Default (I suck at creating titles).

Inspiration: "Heaven" and "Changes" by 3 Doors Down (listen to the songs and tell me they don't sound like something Sam or Dean would think)

A/N: This was something that just came to me – it's a blending of AU and canon. In my version of the pilot, it's not Dean who seeks out Sam and tears him away from Stanford. I also use other characters and case details with a twist just because I can and it amuses me.

Palo Alto, California 2005

Sam crouched behind the door, eyeing the shadow passing across his floor. He cursed himself for not double checking the locks after Jess went to bed. He normally waited until she was asleep then got up to safeguard the house the Winchester way, but tonight after being turned on by his sexily dressed girlfriend, his little brain had overtaken his big brain and he'd gone to sleep afterward like he was a normal who didn't have to worry about supernatural things. Had being gone that long made him go soft in the brain?

Part of him was horrified – the boy raised as a Hunter by his father and brother – while the rest of him – the boy who ran away from his life and family to strike it out on his own – applauded. It was the first time in four years he hadn't immediately thought about salting the entry points, wondered where he stashed his last vial of holy water, or worried about the silver knife on his side of the bed. Tonight was about school, drinking, and sex – two of which Dean had always urged on him.

The creaking of the floor alerted Sam to his unknown intruder's position. He was in the tiny living room adjacent to the kitchen – about three long steps from his own current position. Silently thanking Dean for his tireless efforts to teach his younger brother how to sneak up on someone, Sam flew at the stranger and tackled him, relishing the use of his full strength and slight height advantage. He was stronger, taller, and more agile than anyone else he knew, so Sam often had to play on their level instead because he wanted to fit in. Now, however, he threw his usual consideration out, striking out at the five vulnerable points of the human body: eyes, ears, temple, clavicle and solar plexus. He was deep into protective rage - his instincts demanding he keep Jess safe – so he didn't hear his name being called at first, trying to twist and grapple with his suddenly wily opponent who countered each strike.

"Sam. Sammy!"

His nickname being bellowed in his ear – something no one called him or had the right to call him – snapped him back faster than anything else could've. That, and the tone he'd recognize in his sleep.

"Dad?"

Sam pushed himself off and took a halting step backward so he could flick on the light. The shadow uncoiled itself from the floor, resolving into the familiar broad-shouldered figure of John Winchester, a hand raised to protect his eyes.

"One and only, though you did a damn fine try at patricide. 'Course, your home security was child's play to get through; if a toddler could batter through your defenses, how fast do you think a critter could?"

Oh yeah, it was his dad alright.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

John lowered his hand and looked at his youngest son with tired dark eyes. The craggy face was still handsome, the near black hair still un-greyed, but there was something about him that screamed old to Sam, and it shook him. His father was the unshakeable Rock of Gibraltar in which the boys' world revolved around; to see something indefinable and broken in him now was scary, though Sam didn't utter his thoughts aloud. He was angry, not stupid.

"That still doesn't answer my question: What. The. Hell. Are. You. Doing. Here?

"Honey, what's going on?"

Both Winchesters turned to the bedroom doorway as Jess appeared, her white night-gown innocently provocative as it lay against her slim body. She pushed pillow-flattened blond hair from her eyes and blinked sleepily at the both of them.

"Jess, go back to bed. I'll be in there in a minute."

"Why hello, I'm John Winchester."

John and Sam spoke at the same time, brown eyes clashing with hazel ones as each man tried to glare the other into submission. It was rare for Sam to see his father being charming, but he'd recognize the smirk he bestowed on Jess anywhere: it was one of the few things Dean had inherited from John (everything else was Mary Winchester, or so the pictures and Dad's drunken ramblings proclaimed).

Jess pointedly ignored her boyfriend and stepped further into the small living room, blue eyes switching back and forth between the two men. It was clear the older man was related to Sam, their body shape, hair, facial structure, and identical scowls screamed such a connection. In the two years they'd dated, she'd never gotten him to speak much about his past, other than a few cryptic references to an absentee dad.

"John Winchester as in Sam's…?"

"Father," he helpfully supplied to her less than subtle question. While most normal family members might be miffed by her lack of knowledge, John approved his son's tight-lipped mentality with his girlfriend. It was safer for everyone if she wasn't aware of his past, but in this case there was no avoiding the truth.

"He was just leaving."

"But he just got here!"

Jess didn't want to lose the opportunity to learn more about Sam – whereas most guys their age couldn't shut up about their pasts, Sam was annoyingly and cleverly reticent about his, somehow always managing to weasel out of conversations. He knew everything about her and pretty much the only thing she knew about him was the fact he moved around a lot as a kid, which is why he knew some of the most obscure facts about nearly every state in the U.S. She had quickly learned not to pry, but the curiosity never left.

John could read the pretty blond like one of his son's textbooks: her eagerness to know more about Sam and the unthinking normality of her existence. She was exactly the kind of girl he would expect his youngest boy to date and eventually marry, if only to prove he could. Inwardly he sighed because this wasn't going to end pretty, no matter what Sam decided. He'd scouted his son's activities for a week before approaching him and he didn't know which disturbed him more: Sam's lack of situational awareness or him celebrating Halloween like he didn't know what it actually represented.

"Dad, why are you here?"

"Son, maybe we should step outside and talk about this."

John groaned mentally when Sam – contrary to the end – stepped towards Jess and tucked her into his side with a challenging look.

"Whatever you need to say, you can say in front of both of us."

"Dean's missing."

The words speared through Sam with bruising force. Of the many regrets he had, Dean was one of the biggest. When Sam had broken the news of his full scholarship to Stanford, Dad had raged and blustered, vowing he wouldn't let a son of his venture off on his lonesome, but Dean had remained mute, barely looking at his brother. It was a cold three weeks until he finally left for California, Dean dropping him off at the bus stop with a gruff "be seeing you kid," before peeling out of the parking lot. The phone calls and e-mail were sporadic until two years ago – right around the time he started dating Jess – they stopped completely.

"Jess, we're going to step outside for a minute. Be right back."

Sam didn't breathe until they were huddled downstairs near the apartment parking lot.

"What do you mean "missing?""

"He hasn't been answering my calls or texts and the last time anyone saw him was months ago."

"Months? Exactly how long has he been gone?"

"Well, we split up a year ago –"

"A freaking year, Dad? He's been gone a year?"

John growled low in his throat. He didn't appreciate the searing look of disdain his youngest was throwing him as it only reinforced his own recriminations.

"It's not like that, Sam. Right after you left for California, he started running his own Hunts. About two years ago, he dropped off the map for about a month and when he came back, he was different."

He wished he had the words to describe the difference in Dean so Sam would understand. John had known how hard his oldest took Sam's leaving – as if the heart of him was gone – but then he'd started filling the hole with hunting and things began to perk up as if he'd finally shaken the melancholy over losing his little brother. Then they'd gotten into one of their legendary no holds bar fights and Dean had gone storming off. John hadn't worried too much about him until a few weeks went by without any contact. Dean and he sometimes went solo, but always kept the other apprised of what was going on. By the time he passed anger and headed into unadulterated fear territory, Dean turned up, bruised and broken, but uncommunicative. More so than usual.

Talking about their feelings wasn't the Winchester way, so John had left his son alone to work out whatever demons – no pun intended – he had until Dean went back to being himself again. It was a mockery of the snarky charming son he reared and loved, but it was something.

Then last spring Dean had gotten a phone call that completely changed him. John never got the details, but whatever it was, it sent his son out into the cold with the only parting words of "I'll be in touch old man," before he sped away in the Impala. He'd always expected Sam to leave – had seen it in the temper tantrums and fights over the years – but he'd figured his perfect soldier son would always be at his side, until he wasn't.

"We'd meet up at prearranged spots to work together, but when the job was over, he'd be gone again. Yet, even when we weren't together, I'd still hear from him or get a text." John shook his head wearily, standing with his hands on his jean-clad hips. "Six weeks have gone by with only one voicemail."

He dug out the small silver cell phone from his back pocket and held it out to his other son, hoping he might be able to glean something. Sam and Dean always had a connection that defied explanation, as far back as he could remember, and was now counting on.

Sam held the phone to his ear and listened to the disembodied voice of his missing brother:

Dad, it's me. Uh, things are crazy right now and I don't think I can help you with the witches. You know how much I hate witches [pause with an uncomfortable chuckle]. I, uh, have things here to take care of and, uh, I'll be in touch when I'm able. If you don't hear from me, don't worry I'm fine. I'm a Winchester and we're always fine, right? [background noise intrudes and kids yelling muffle Dean's voice] …so catch ya later. [click]

Sam stared at the device in his hand with frustration. He was thrilled to hear Dean's voice – craved it in fact – but angry it was the first time in years he'd heard it.

"Have you tried calling him back?"

John didn't bother dignifying that with a response. Sam snorted then moved on. It was a stupid question anyway because if Dean couldn't be raised by phone – especially to their father's call – then he'd ditched the burner for a new one.

"What did you two fight about?"

"What?"

"You said two years ago, he dropped off the map for about a month. The only way he'd leave you is if you two fought. What was it about?"

John grimaced ashamedly. He didn't like to think of the fight that almost had them coming to blows.

"It's not important –"

"There's no such thing as an unimportant detail, Dad. You always told us that – especially when starting a hunt. Dean started acting weird about two years ago and there's a reason for it." Sam handed back the phone then cleared his throat awkwardly. "He stopped talking to me about then too."

Shock lined John's weathered face. He'd always assumed Dean had kept in contact with his little brother because there was no one – John included – who he loved more. It was also one more reason why he came to ask for Sam's help. He'd assumed Dean would've told Sam what was going on.

"We, ah, acquired the services of another hunter during the course of a job we were on. The hunter ended up getting ripped apart and Dean took it hard because the guy had a wife and kid waiting for him back home. He'd promised the little girl he'd bring her daddy back safe and sound."

"And he hates breaking promises he makes, especially to kids," Sam murmured.

John nodded.

"Who was the hunter?"

"Bill Harvelle."

"But why would you fight about that, especially for a hunt gone wrong? It sucks, but it happens from time to time." Sam's eyes narrowed in thought, his hand pushing through his hair. He knew Dean and understood his older brother's thought processes – Dad was right, even when he was wrong, or so it had always seemed. But to hear his brother had actually left his father in anger could only lead him to one conclusion: "You got him killed, didn't ya? Dean disagreed with your plan for whatever the job was and reamed you when it went wrong."

Anger and shame vied for supremacy as John fought to control his reaction to his son's insightful comments. He'd gone with his gut instinct – something that made him a great hunter – and he'd miscalculated their prey's cunning because he jumped out a moment before the trap was sprung, alerting the demon to his presence. In horror, he watched as the demon chomped down on Bill who was acting as bait, his screams of "No!" as he raced to pry it off his friend. Dean – who was on the other side to make sure the demon didn't have reinforcements – had seen the entire fight from beginning to end and stormed over there to back his father up.

John had started dragging the demon into the drawn Devil's Trap, barely aware of Dean trying to keep Bill's guts from falling through the gaping hole in his abdomen. He'd tortured the demon as he'd never done before – always trying to keep the host body in somewhat decent shape just in case he or she could survive the possession – but this time he didn't care. He needed to avenge his friend's death – he knew even before Dean got there that Bill wouldn't make it – and get information on the demon who'd taken Mary away from them. The demon had merely laughed in his face, telling John he shouldn't bother because Old Yellow Eyes was coming for him.

It was the first time he'd received confirmation there was a grand scheme in place – for whatever demonic reason – and a name. Well, more of a nickname, but something tangible for him to grasp. Dean, on the other hand, had been more upset about Bill's death than delighted there was proof the end was near for his mother's killer.

"It should've worked. I had the best intel, we went over and over the plan…and it just…failed."

Sam wavered between shock at his father's uncharacteristic sharing and worry for his brother's state of mind. He knew how much Dean adored John and knew it must've been bad for him to up and leave without a word. It helped him understand what changed two years ago, but Dean was forgiving and never held a grudge for too long, so what had sent him off the grid now?

"What was the last conversation you guys had about?"

"Your mother."

The softly spoken words fell into the silence that sprung up between the two. Though Sam hadn't ever met Mary – being too young when she died to remember her – he'd been raised to honor her memory by Dean. John was a distant taciturn man who's obsessive drive to find his wife's killer had taken him away more often than not from his boys, so Dean weaned Sam on tales of their mother until she approached a goddess-like stature in young Sam's mind. Even now, years and maturity later, Sam still felt a certain reverence for her he couldn't shake.

"Was he angry? Upset? What?"

John shrugged, the sheepskin lined jean jacket settling against his shoulders. "He asked me how I knew I loved Mary."

The two Winchesters exchanged baffled glances as this wasn't a topic the missing Winchester normally broached. He was a lady-killer with a gold-plated smile and a con man's tongue who was able to finagle his way into almost any woman's bed he set his sights on. There was never any indication he nurtured anything deeper than "helllloooo nurse" thoughts towards the opposite sex. Not to say Dean didn't genuinely appreciate females, but he held them at the same distance he held everyone else who's last name wasn't the same as his.

"Do you think –"

"Dean? Nah."

They both instantly dismissed any idea of Dean having romantic feelings for someone because it was inconceivable.

"Sam? Are you going to be outside all night?"

Both men looked up towards the top of the stairs where a shivering Jess stood, her arms crossed to hide her unbound breasts. She'd been patiently waiting for the last half hour for them to return, but got worried when no one came through the door again. There'd always been a fear in the back of her mind of Sam just taking off – it was silly as many of her girlfriends assured her – because he seemed so rootless. Even his upcoming interview for law school didn't seem much of a tie, as she could somehow imagine him shucking it – and her – without a backwards glance. Her imagination had gotten the better of her because she wondered if the appearance of his father would somehow pull him back to the mysterious past he never spoke about to anyone.

"Uh, no. Go back inside, babe. I'll be up in a minute."

"Why not just finish your conversation up here? Your dad could stay on the couch…" her tone was unintentionally pleading, as she really did want to get to know John more, hungry for any scrap of information.

Sam's eyebrows drew together into a scowl she couldn't see. It was his worst nightmare come to life: his past and his present colliding into an epic big bang of disaster. He hadn't understood just how far he'd run from being a Winchester and all the responsibilities it entailed until he saw his father standing in his apartment. He knew as surely as he knew his name that the reason John had come wasn't just to inform him about Dean's absence, but also to pull him back into the hunt.

Had it been for any other reason, Sam could've said no with a clear conscience, but this was for Dean. The big brother who'd nursed him through countless sicknesses, kept him fed and loved, who'd released him to the wider world. It had taken awhile for him to realize it, but eventually it dawned on him the reason Dean hadn't tried to stop him from going to Stanford was because his brother had understood the soul-deep weariness he felt in living their life. He wanted – no, needed - stability and normality in a way the other two didn't; Sam would've stayed if Dean had asked him to, or given any indication he wanted him to, but he hadn't and Sam didn't.

"Jess, please."

"Fine!"

Both winced when the front door slammed.

"Damn, son, you'll be paying for that one."

"Gee, I can't think why." John just laughed at Sam's bitchface (as Dean named it the first time it made its appearance at the tender age of nine).

"You want my advice?"

"About women from you? I think I'll pass." Sam sighed and threaded his fingers through his thick brown hair and slightly tugged on it. "Why haven't you just come out and asked?"

"Asked what?"

"Dad, don't. Just don't. We both know you came here for my help because you want me to go with you."

"Sammy-"

"It's Sam," he interrupted.

"Sam," John huffed then continued, "I tried doing this on my own and couldn't get anywhere." The words burned as he admitted failure. It wasn't often he felt the sting of defeat, but it wasn't surprising it was at the hands of family; if anything, Mary's murderer getting away scott free had taught him that particularly bitter lesson. "I need your help."

"Do you know his last known job?"

"No, but I know someone who might."

Sam cocked a brow at John's tone as he couldn't quite decipher the emotions running through his father; the angle of the light didn't allow him to see his face either, so he was left with only guesses. But if he didn't know any better, he'd think Dad was…jealous.

"Okay you make that phone call while I try to make my girlfriend understand why I'm leaving."

"Good luck."

"Yeah, I'm gonna need it."

John grinned as he watched his son march up the stairs much like a condemned prisoner would face the firing squad. It wasn't surprising really that Sam would drop everything for his brother – despite him leaving the family business for a new life, he was still Dean's baby brother and that connection was unshakeable, nigh unbreakable even.

Okay, enough stalling Winchester. Just do it.

Shaky fingers dialed a number he still knew by heart despite the years since he'd called it. He almost hit end when he heard the phone ring, but his need to know Dean's whereabouts was more pressing so he pulled up his big boy pants and held on.

"Yeah?"

"Bobby, it's me...John."

Sam paused on the stairs when he heard his father say "Bobby" – the falling out between the two men was legendary in the gossip and rumor fueled world of the Hunters, and something everyone speculated about but no one had the actual reason as to why. Sam and Dean had their own ideas (they intimately knew John's ability to piss people off after all), but nothing they'd ever tried to verify with their father; instead, as always, they followed Dad's lead and didn't have anything to do with the old man again, though Sam knew Dean had had a special fondness for him. Astonishment arched his brows as he wondered what else he'd missed in the four years away from his family if John was calling Bobby for Dean's whereabouts.

As much as he wanted to continue eavesdropping, he had his own difficult conversation to start. With that in mind, he opened the door, unprepared for Jess standing right inside with an angry expression. The doorknob slipped from his suddenly sweaty grasp and the door slammed shut behind him.

"You're leaving aren't you?"

"What?"

"You're going off with your dad and blowing off your interview on Monday."

Sam started a little at her reminder of what was coming up in three days. In the emotional whirlwind of being with his dad and hearing about Dean, he'd completely forgotten what was going on for him in this life, despite spending most of the evening celebrating that very news. He'd done very well on his LSATs and was actually scouted by the Stanford Law Professor to do his degree here; it should've been his dream come true, and until an hour ago, it was.

"I'm not –"

"Don't bother lying to me, Sam. It's beneath you." She shook her head, tears filling her eyes. "I've been expecting this day for months – no years. Ever since the first time we slept together and you looked so devastated."

"It wasn't like that –" ironically echoing his father's words to him "- I was just overwhelmed." Sam bent his head a little. "It was my first time."

Jess' mouth opened and closed as she fought to find words. She hadn't even known Sam was a virgin that night, though she'd known he wasn't experienced. "That's kind of something you tell a girl, especially one you profess to love."

Sam nodded once, his mind traveling back to that night and the emotions filling him when he realized the one person he wanted to tell wasn't there. He wouldn't have bragged about cashing his v-card in like Dean did when he was fourteen – Sam still shuddered at the memory – but he had wanted to share the milestone with his big brother who'd been there for all the others.

"I didn't want to seem like a freak to you."

"Being a guy's first, being the girl who he compares all other lovers to, is not freakish. It's a compliment."

Sam blushed a little and ducked his head again.

"But that's beside the point. Stop trying to side track me! You're leaving with your dad for this Dean guy, aren't you?"

"He's my brother, of course I'm going."

"You have a brother and you didn't even tell me! Where's your mom? Do you have a sister you've hidden away?"

Each word got progressive louder as Jess stepped into his personal bubble and backed him up into the door. Sam was used to towering over everyone and downplaying his strengths, so he automatically allowed her to move him; there were only two people in the world he could feel comfortable about his body with and she wasn't one of them. In fact, her own seeming delicateness was actually one of the things that attracted him to her – she would allow him to protect her without demur, let him baby her in recompense for opening her heart and her life to him. She was the opposite of Dean in terms of physicality and she didn't protest his signs of affection – something his brother had done once Sam was out of childhood. He'd often wondered what it was about being a Winchester that automatically made love synonymous with horror. Then he mentally slapped himself when he remembered Mary.

"You're not listening to a word I'm saying!"

Sam clued into Jess' rant and handily proved he was paying attention – his mind was facile enough to devote time to his own personal thoughts while also superficially cataloguing his surroundings. It was what made him a damn fine Hunter.

"Okay," she harrumphed, chagrined she couldn't lay more blame on Sam. Jess knew he was going to go regardless of what she was saying, but she still tried to find a way to make him stay. It didn't matter if he said he'd be back, she knew, knew, in her heart of hearts, if he walked out that door, he wasn't coming back to her, at least in any meaningful way.

"Baby, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Dean or my dad. It's hard to talk about my childhood; I wasn't abused or anything, just we were raised differently. After Mom died, Dad couldn't stand to stay in one place because of her memory, so he dragged us all over the States, always saying just one more job then everything will change. Dean was all I had."

Sam was unaware of the bitterness in his voice, his hazel blue eyes filled with dark emotions. Jess was a little taken aback by his words. She'd constructed many scenarios in her head over the years, but never guessed a dead mother and an obsessive father.

"So you're close to Dean?"

"He was the best big brother any kid could ask for. I remember once when I was really little and we were in this mall during the Christmas season. We passed a line for Santa Claus and Dean asked if I wanted to sit on Santa's lap to ask for a gift; I told him I didn't need anything more since I had him."

Sam still remembered the look of surprise and gratitude on Dean's face at his words. He knew now it was because it was probably the first time anyone had either said or implied they loved him in a very long time. Dean had once told him how different John was before the fire, but Sam couldn't see it. It boggled his mind to think their dad was loving and affectionate, had a hearty laugh, and smiled more than he frowned. He secretly thought Dean had created that father in his mind because he couldn't bear to deal with the reality of the one they had – he was only four when everything happened so how reliable could his memories be?

"What happened to him, your brother?"

"I dunno, but Dad has a pretty good idea of where we can track him down." Or so Sam hoped.

"But why do you have to go? I mean, I get you love your brother, but you haven't seen or talked to him in four years. Why do you care now?"

Sam slipped out from the small cage Jess created and flopped on their couch. Her words were daggers of truth slicing his heart out from his chest. Why did he let his brother stop communicating by phone and then e-mail? He knew better than anyone that when Dean went silent, it was a sign of his emotional upheaval. Because it was easier – he didn't have to be torn between the two greatest loves of his life (school and Dean). He wanted his cake and eat it too, and when it proved too hard, he buried his brother in a lock box in his mind, content to let him stay there.

"I still talked to him, even met up with him for lunch, but that was in the beginning when I first got here. We talked by phone, then e-mail, then we just stopped."

Jess moved in front of him, her hands twisting around each other as she fought the urge to reach out to him. There was an unapproachable air about him she'd never encountered before from Sam; he was the most touch-hungry person she'd ever met and was happiest when he was curled around her in bed. Now, however, her Sam was gone and this stranger was in his place.

"It's like I don't even know you."

"You do. You know this Sam."

"This Sam? What does that even mean?"

It meant she knew the Sam he constructed, built painstakingly out of bits of truth and mostly fantasy, the boy he wished he could be and the man he was trying to become; but like the house of cards Dean used to construct when he was bored, it only took the smallest tremor to shake the foundations and bring it down.

"You wouldn't have liked me if you knew me before Stanford. I was, uh, very different."

His father had not only raised Hunters, but slick conmen, sometimes wheel men, and backup. It was after a particularly brutal poltergeist fight – where they'd conned their way into the job by posing as electricians – that Sam realized this would be his life for the next several decades if he didn't do something to pull himself out. He wanted a job that didn't require him lying about every aspect of his existence.

"Dad needs me. I wish you could understand what that means, but trust me when I say, I'm the last person in the world my father would normally admit to needing. But I know Dean better than anyone else, so I can think like him, know where he might go and why. "

John had often called them cosmic twins because of their ability to communicate wordlessly, tap into each other's consciousness and just know information about each other that defied description. It might seem spooky to anyone else, but to him it was just how he and Dean operated. And it was that closeness, that twinness, he'd missed more than anything in the four years he was gone, though he'd learned to live without it.

"Will you come home after you find him?

Sam's first instinct was to protest her use of the word "home." Growing up, he'd always tried to imagine what living in the same house, the same town, would be like and wanted it more than anything else in the world. Too bad it occurred to him too late he did have a home, just not a conventional one. Dean and the Impala were his home, always had been, always would be, no matter how far or fast he ran.

"If there's nothing seriously wrong with Dean, than yeah, I'll be back."

There was the qualification she was looking for and one she didn't think Sam even realized he gave.

"What about law school?"

Fire was an essential tool in the Hunter's bag of tricks; it's why no true Hunter went without a lighter, matches, and lighter fluid packed somewhere in his or her gear. Even the Winchesters – who had more cause than most to hate the flames – were old hands with different tricks for setting things on fire. Sam knew one word could start the conflagration of his present life, leaving him with ashes, but found he just couldn't care, not with Dean in possible trouble.

"Dean's more important."

Both Sam and Jess felt the impact of those three little words: for Sam, it was letting go of the guilt, anger, homesickness, and depression that had bound him to the past and kept him from moving on in the present. He'd run from his responsibilities as a Winchester instead of trying to face it squarely. This might be his only chance to right the wrongs he'd dealt his family and see if this new life was truly something he wanted because he wanted it not because it was the opposite of what he'd had; but this time fairly and honestly, instead of sneaking out like a thief. To Jess, however, they resounded in her heart with finality, as if proving the echo of something else she'd always heard behind Sam's every word to her was worse than she'd imagined. It seemed ironic – and purely Sam Winchester – for him to leave her, not for another girl, but for a man who seemed more myth than fact.

"I see."

And she did. The minute he spoke those three little words, purpose had filled him; the lost boy she sometimes saw in his face was gone as if he'd never existed. And maybe he didn't. Maybe he was fabricated from her desire to be needed by him, to be needed by someone so terrifyingly self-sufficient, she was still shocked they were dating and living together. No young man knew how to cook, clean, or do laundry. It just wasn't normal.

The polite knock on the door reminded them they weren't alone and Sam opened it to his father. The men locked eyes, nodded, and then John walked back down the stairs. Though not a word passed their lips, Jess felt as if she'd witnessed a calm exchange of information, planning, and execution; if this was how he'd lived as a child, no wonder he was such a solemn and quiet man now.

"Jess-"

"He's not spending the night, is he? You guys are leaving now."

"Yeah," Sam responded absently, already moving towards the small closet near the door. Even though he didn't participate on Hunts any longer, he'd always made sure to keep a bag packed filled with the usual salt, silver, guns, and ammo, as well as spare clothing. Of course, the clothes he'd kept in there from four years ago no longer fit since he was quite a bit bigger now – the consequences of a healthy diet, exercise, and daily meals – so he'd have to take those out and pack newer stuff.

Jess watched his methodical packing, each item quickly and efficiently stowed away in a black canvas bag she'd never seen. Shock filled her when Sam withdrew a large knife from under his side of their bed and threw it in the open pack. He turned to her at the last, his normally open gaze veiled from her, as if he'd already distanced himself from her, their life.

"You have my phone number so if you need to reach me."

But don't call just to chat went unspoken, at least to Jess' tender ears.

Sam pressed a heartfelt kiss to her lips, relishing the scent of her for a moment, and then gently disengaged himself from her grasp.

"I will come back, Jess. I promise."

"I love you," her words stark and unvarnished, fear and worry and affection bound up in those three words. Sam's eyes returned to hers, hazel eyes soft and clear as she knew them.

"I love you too, baby."

Then with little ceremony, he hoisted his bag over his shoulder and walked out of Jessica Moore's life for perhaps the last time.

John looked up as he heard Sam come thundering down the steps, joining him at the curb. His son took in the gleaming black of the truck he now drove and whistled in appreciation.

"Hafta hand it to you, Dad, you know vehicles."

John smiled proudly – unintentionally reminding Sam of Dean's possessive love for the Impala – and took his son's bag to throw it in the back.

"Yeah, she's a beaut. Remind me sometime to tell you the story of how I got her."

Sam swung into the cab and settled in, unsurprised when his dad turned on the engine and classic rock poured out of the speakers.

"AC/DC Dad? Haven't changed a bit."

John caught Sam's hand before he could touch the volume knob.

"What was Dean's rule in the Impala?"

Sam groaned but intoned with his dad "Driver picks the music and shot gun shuts his pie-hole."

"I knew I raised that boy right," John joked as he peeled out of the parking lot.

A few miles down the road, Sam finally broke the silence and asked the most pressing question.

"Where we going?"

John's gaze never wavered from the road, though his hands did tighten on the steering wheel. "Jericho. According to my source, he was on the trail of a Woman in White."

"Huh." Sam fidgeted for a moment. "Did he often do jobs in California?"

His father heard the real question: Did he still care about me even after he cut off contact?

"Every chance he got, son. Every chance he got."

Sam smiled a little then leaned his head against the window, staring out into the darkness as it rippled by. Though this wasn't the Impala and it wasn't Dean seated beside him, he felt comfort and rightness settling into his gut. He didn't know how long or how many miles it would take to get to Dean, but it was the first step in the right direction.

"Wake me when we get there."