Title: Opportunity
Rating: T
Summary: "Just come with me…" he whispered, hands finding the collar of Dean's favorite leather jacket, shining from the rainwater and slick under his fingers.
Disclaimer: I own nothing at all.

A/N: Just a super angsty drabble, not to be taken seriously.

"I'm sorry." He murmured, voice soft and nearly broken. The sound, no matter how quiet, was clearly heard through the roar of the warm summer rain pouring mercilessly onto their heads. Sam blinked his eyes clear of moisture. Whether it was tears or rain, Dean couldn't be sure.

His brother was not above crying, a talent that Dean had silently envied throughout his life. Sam had worn his heart on his sleeve ever since they were children, something Dean was simply incapable of. Suppressing his emotions was an everyday occurrence he had come to associate with 'normal.' It got him through problems that would leave most people reeling and unable to find stable, emotional ground again.

"I'm sorry." Sam repeated with a barely detectable sniffle. He looked through his dripping bangs and met Dean's eyes. His suitcase, battered and hastily patched up, was clutched in his trembling fingers.

Dean wanted to be angry, every bone in his body was telling him to scream and yell, to ball his fists and stamp his feet like a child, to swear until his face was red with anger and the veins in his neck were raised and pulsing with raw fury. He told himself that he had every right to be angry. He had every right to call Sam everything but human and accuse him of being nothing but selfish.

But, he remained quiet.

"Dean…Dean, c'mon, don't do this." Sam whispered after another sniff, "I can't lose you too."

Their father could still be heard from inside the motel, slamming doors and yelling, his voice booming and dark, echoing about and still clearly audible through the pounding of the shower on the cement around them, "Dean, get back in here! Let him leave!"

Dean had half the mind to, too. He had obeyed his father's every order since before he could walk, doing everything he was told, no matter what it was, even if it was leaving his weeping brother, whom he had practically raised by himself. It was always the same thing, John said "jump" and Dean would ask "how high?"

John's loud and commanding voice echoed in his head and Dean's feet itched to run back into the house, but he stood in place, eyes trained on Sam's. He watched as his little brother, who was far from little anymore, standing a good three or four inches taller than himself, hunched over and tried to stifle his sobs.

Dean couldn't deny that it tugged at his heartstrings, watching him like this. Sam may have expressed his emotions better than Dean…but he hardly ever cried. It was like looking at a kicked puppy.

"Then, don't leave." Dean muttered, voice nearly drowned out by the roar of the rain.

Sam heard him, and his head snapped up, eyes red and searching, "I have to leave, Dean." He tightened his grip on the handle to his hand-me-down suitcase as the taxi, pulled up next to the road, honked its horn impatiently, "Come with me."

With a pained look, Dean shook his head and frowned, avoiding Sam's teary gaze, "You know I can't do that, Sam."

"Why not?"

"I have to take care of Dad, you know that, I-"

"Fuck Dad!" Sam shouted, voice cracking as if he were a teenager again, and fresh tears streamed down his cheeks to mingle with the droplets of rain.

He took a step closer and left his dripping suitcase on the pavement, silently begging Dean with his eyes.

"Just come with me…" he whispered, hands finding the collar of Dean's favorite leather jacket, shining from the rainwater and slick under his fingers.

And Dean considered it, he really did. Would leaving their nearly abusive and neglectful father for college really be that bad? They'd get to stay together and wouldn't have to hunt. They'd be practically free, and-

And…

There was no way they'd get away with it, Dean was sure. He was sure it was too good to be true, nothing was ever that easy. If his father had taught him anything, it was that happiness was never gained without great sacrifice. He believed it.

"I can't, Sam." he whispered, "But, hey…" he cracked a painfully fake smile and rubbed at his younger brother's soaked locks, "Keep in touch, will you?"

At first, Dean thought Sam was going to break down, with the way he was looking at him, like Dean had shot him in the gut, but he didn't. Instead, he grew quiet and ducked his head, the top of his skull inches from Dean's nose.

"That's just what we do, isn't it…?" he finally muttered, and Dean strained to hear him. He looked up, boyish features curved in a deep frown, "Pretend everything's okay until the goddamn devil is at our front door." stepping away from him, Sam snatched up his suitcase again and looked at Dean one more time, "Well, I'm not having it." he didn't look back as he walked away, "Sure, Dean, I'll 'keep in touch'."

Dean stood on the sidewalk, hands deep in his pockets, and watched as his little brother, now a full-grown man, heaved his suitcase into the backseat of the taxi and followed soon after. The car door shut and his throat tightened. The vehicle let out a puff of exhaust fumes and began to move, quickly rolling down the street and only gaining speed.

It wasn't like in the movies, Dean realized, nothing was in slow-motion, there was no background music, and no voice of bravery, encouraging him to chase after Sam. It wasn't as if Sam wanted to be chased after anyway. Sam wanted to leave, had wanted to leave for years and now he finally had the chance.

Besides, Dean smiled, this was the opportunity for Sam to have everything he never could, an education, a job, hard-earned money, a family to call his own, a house he never had to consider 'temporary', a feeling of belonging… This was a good thing.

It wasn't until the taxi was out of sight, that Dean let himself cry.