Dean rummaged through Sam's backpack. His younger brother had just graduated, and Dean was sure he would try to apply to different colleges against both him and his fathers' wills. Sam was at the store, picking up food, and John was out on a hunt.
After searching for a while, he finally found an opened envelope. He felt his heart drop when he read the return address. Stanford University. Of course they'd accept Sam, he's a genius. He pulled the letter out and unfolded it, preparing himself to read it. John would kill Sam if he knew about this.

Dean knew it already, but it was an acceptance letter. He read through it god knows how many times, and then he finally pocketed it and sat on the motel couch, completely distraught. He couldn't believe that he was almost in tears, but he was losing Sam. He had to protect his brother, and if he went away to college he couldn't protect him. Could hardly even talk to him.

The older brother's thoughts were interrupted by the motel door opening and closing, and Sam walking into view.

"What are you doing, Dean?" he asked quietly, tilting his head a bit. Dean looked up at him from the couch and sighed.

"Do you have something you want to tell me?" Dean raised his eyebrows at him.

Sam seemed to shrink back and he looked at the floor. "No, what do you mean?"

Dean pulled out the envelope. "This. You got accepted at a college? Did you even plan on telling me?" He felt tears sting at his eyes and he cursed under his breath.

"I, uh. I'm sorry?" Sam cautiously sat down next to his brother.

"Were you going to tell me?" he almost yelled, turning to face the younger boy, rage quickly making its way to his surface.

Sam flinched, now leaning back against the arm of the couch. "I'm sorry, Dean, I- I don't think I was going to tell you."

Dean chuckled quietly, in a way that scared his brother. "That's fucking great. My whole life, I tell you everything, and this is how you repay me? I protect you, I gamble all of my money to help support you. What the hell do you do for this family? You leave. Dad is going to kill you."

"He won't know until I run away, Dean. I'm eighteen. I'm legally allowed to leave."

"You're going to run away again? Is that what you do now? You run away from every single one of your problems? Jesus, Sam. Do you know what Dad is going to do to me if you run away on my watch? Last time he beat my ass. He let me have it. He made me search for you. You will not make that happen to me again. Get your selfish head out of your ass."

"You think I'm selfish? I'm making a better life for myself, Dean. Once I'm gone, I won't care if he beats you."

"You take that back, Sam."

"No." Sam stood up, ripped the letter out of Dean's hands. He pulled his duffel bag out from under his bed and threw the letter in, then hoisted it over his shoulder. "Bye, Dean."

"Sammy," Dean called after him, following him out the door. "Sam, please, come back."

Sam walked to the bus stop right outside their motel, and sat at the bench. He ignored Dean's pleas, but turned around to look at him. He was standing in the doorway, and he could see tears on his older brother's face. He remembered July 4th, 1996. He remembered Dean sticking up for him in school, saying hi to him in the hallways. He remembered Dean intervening in every single fight Sam had with Dad. He remembered everything.

And then he turned back around. And he boarded the first bus that arrived. And he never looked back.