CHAPTER TWO

Late the next morning, Dean was switching out the alternator on a sweet 1970 Dodge Challenger when his cell phone rang. Cursing, his hangover from the night before leaving him a little short-tempered, he wiped his hands on a rag and flipped open his cell.

"Dean, is Sam with you?"

"Hi to you too, Dad," Dean said sarcastically.

"Is he?"

"No," Dean said shortly. "He'd already gone to school when I got up this morning. Why?"

"Because I just got another call from his school saying Sam walked out of his third period class!"

"What? Why?"

"Hell, I don't know. Maybe someone looked at him wrong. Who knows what's up with him these days?"

Dean sighed. "Okay, Dad, I'll find him."

"What about your boss?"

"He's a good guy. He'll let me make up the time."

"Sam's probably out sulking somewhere," John said cynically. "That kid better get himself together. If he thinks I'm kidding about pulling him out of school, he can think again."

"Dad - "

"I'm serious, Dean. I'm sick of his shit. Find him and straighten his ass out, or I will." John hung up.

Dean slowly closed his phone. Then he slammed down the hood of the Challenger and went to find his boss.

OOOOOO

Sam tossed the last of his sandwich into the pond and watched the ducks snap and dive for it. Leaning back against the park bench, he closed his eyes against the early afternoon sun.

Nice. This was nice. No one talking to him or yelling at him. No one wanting anything from him. No one telling him to grow up, to be more like his older brother.

If life could stay just like this. A nice warm blur . . .

He sighed, tried to keep his mind blank. Tried to keep hold of that peace, but the events of the morning kept slipping in through the cracks and dragging him back.

Mrs. Cameron, the overseer teacher for the debate team had asked Sam to give a talk about the benefits of joining the debate team to some students after school.

College-bound students.

A week ago he'd have been happy to do it, happy to be included. But come on, really – what was the point?

"Join the debate team! It'll help develop your academic skills, give you a leg up in the college admissions process and it's a great way to meet chicks!"

"Me? No, I won't be going to college. I'll be too busy saving the world. Thanks for the thought, though!"

He hadn't had the courage to tell his teacher that his father was pulling him off the team. That, more than likely, they'd be on the road within the next month, so he wouldn't be here anyway. Chickenshit that he was, he'd run.

Remembering the confused and hurt look on her face, Sam swallowed hard. He couldn't do this anymore! It was too hard, being dragged back and forth between the "real" world and their world. It was tearing him apart.

Besides, Dad was right. A complete bastard, but right.

The work we do is important, he recited to himself. Saving people's lives is more important than anything I do in school.

School's not important. He could get a GED, like Dean had. He didn't need anything more. After all, there wasn't a chance in hell thathis family could afford to send him to college. And even if he got that scholarship the guidance counselor was always talking about, his dad would never let him go.

Sure, he'd had a few friends at school and he'd miss them. But in his life, what passed for friendship at school was a joke. After all, how close a friendship could it be when he couldn't tell them the truth about his family? About his life. The lies he told always stood between them, an insurmountable barrier to any kind of real friendship.

Dean was his only real friend. That used to be enough. Lately? Not so much. His brother didn't really have time for him anymore. He was going out more and more with their Dad - hunting, drinking, whatever. Or going out on his own, with the many women he couldn't seem to get enough of.

Sam couldn't remember the last time he and his brother had done anything more together than hunt. Sometimes, when he looked at his older brother, he felt like he was looking at a stranger.

And it's not like it was something he could talk to Dean about.

'Please, Dean, stay home with me tonight, I'm lonely.'

Could he be any more pathetic?

Besides, he didn't want to ask Dean. He wanted Dean to hang out with him because he wanted to, not because Sam begged him.

Sam would just have to toughen up and learn how to get along without him.

As for Dad? Didn't matter. Sam had never had him in the first place. Losing Mary had killed something in their father. He hadn't had anything for Sam but orders and criticism for years.

Plus - there was something wrong, something really off, in the way he'd been looking at Sam lately. Something more than just the irritation of a father with an unsatisfactory son, although that last stung enough on its own.

Fine. He would hunt. He would be the best hunter he could be. And that would be the end of all the fighting, the struggle, the wish to be something, anything, other than what he was.

Suddenly tired of all this introspection, tired of himself, Sam rose quickly and tripped over the book bag sitting at his feet, almost falling to the ground.

"Damn it!"

What am I carrying this stupid thing for, anyway! Piece of shit! Stupid books! Stupid notebooks! Useless shit!

"Fuck!" Wild with rage and frustration, Sam dumped his books out of the bag and volleyed them one by one into the pond, followed by his notebooks, his pens and then the bag itself, scattering the wildly quacking ducks.

Breathing ragged but slowly returning to normal, he stared at the debris sinking slowly beneath the surface of the water.

Okay then.

What now?

Home?

He sank back down on the bench.

OOOOOO

Dean stood at the top of the hill and looked down into the park at the duck pond.

Yep, there he was. Little brother – big little brother – angsting it up with the ducks. It was a big angst, too. Dean could tell by the slump of Sam's shoulders and the way his head was sunk into his hands.

Dean ran a hand through his hair. He was sick and tired of this crap. This war between his father and brother had been going on since his brother had learned the word no and it was getting worse every day. Kid just wouldn't give in, get with the program.

They were hunters. Hunters!

They lived, and died, so that others could live in (relative) peace and safety. Even if - when - they destroyed the demon that had killed their mother, that didn't mean that they'd just stop and move to Mayberry. Evil would still be out there. People would still need to be saved.

Why didn't Sam get that? All he could see was what he didn't have, not what they had.

Although, okay, to be honest, it wasn't all Sam's fault. Their father was just as much to blame for the constant struggle between the two. Maybe more; he was the adult.

John was stubborn, just as stubborn as Sam and he flat out hated being questioned; hated having to justify any decision, no matter how small. He didn't get that Sam wasn't questioning John to be an asshole, or to suggest that their father didn't know what he was doing. He just needed to understand the why of things.

Case in point: Sam could research like nobody's business and he used to love it. Half the time he'd known what they were dealing with long before John had; known the best way to deal with it, the safest way to take the monsters down.

But John, although he accepted the research that Sam did, would accept no input about how to go about the hunt for the creature. If Sam had an idea that differed from what their father had planned, John wouldn't listen. Period.

It was like Sam was only good for research; for vomiting up what someone else had already written.

So now, Sam did only as much as his father asked - bare minimum - and offered nothing more.

Dean didn't blame him. Couldn't be fun, having every idea you had shot down.

He couldn't understand why his father treated Sam so harshly. John said he was trying to protect him. That Sam needed to learn how to do what he was told when he was told; that his constant questioning would get himself, or all of them, killed.

Thing was, John listened to Dean; complimented him on his ideas, praised him when he did well. Why was it so hard for his father to do the same with Sam?

He started down the hill. Halfway down to his brother, Dean saw Sam get to his feet and trip over his book bag. Dean started to laugh then stopped and stared in astonishment as Sam dumped open the bag and started throwing its contents into the pond, scattering the hysterically quacking ducks.

"What the hell?"

This was all kinds of wrong.

His baby brother throwing books into a pond was the equivalent of a priest desecrating a crucifix.

Something was definitely up with his little brother.

OOOOOO

Sam knew the sound of Dean's footsteps. He didn't bother to look up.

"Hey, Sam."

"Dean."

Dean sat down next to him. "Whatcha doing?"

Sam shrugged. "Nothing."

"The school called Dad. Kinda freaked him out."

"Pissed him off, you mean."

"Yeah, maybe." Dean studied the expressionless look on his brother's face, the dark hair hanging over his shuttered eyes. "You ready to go home?"

Sam sat silently for a minute, then hauled himself to his feet. He turned and walked slowly back towards the hill and the street beyond.

Dean caught up with him. "Hold up - what's the deal with you throwing your stuff into the pond?"

Something moved briefly in Sam's eyes, then vanished. "I don't need them anymore."

OOOOOO

Sam stared at the floor and let his father's words flow over him. Disappointment, under the radar, more important things to do, be more like your brother. Same old, same old.

"Are you even listening to me?" John snapped.

"Yes, sir."

"Did you do what I told you?"

"Sir?"

"The debate team, Sam," John said impatiently.

"No, sir," Sam answered stonily.

John's face turned red. "I told you –"

"I'm quitting school, sir."

"What?" John and Dean said together.

"I'm quitting school," Sam repeated. "I'm sixteen now. It's legal."

"Sammy, no," Dean protested.

John held up a hand to stop him. "Why, Sam?" he said sharply.

"It's like you said, sir. School's just a distraction," Sam said mechanically. "It's best to just focus on the job at hand."

John smiled. "You sure, Sammy?"

Sam flinched a little at the pet name. "Yes, sir. I'm sure. Can I go now? I have target practice."

"Yeah, sure, go ahead." He watched as Sam started to leave the room, then called him back. "Sam, hold on. Go pack. We've got a hunt. We'll be leaving first thing in the morning."

Sam nodded and left the room.

Dean looked at his father disbelievingly. "Dad, are you kidding me? You have to know this is wrong!"

"It's his choice, Dean," John said with satisfaction. "His decision."

"Sam loves school. He's only doing this because of what happened yesterday!"

"Sam leaving school is the best thing that could happen right now. We won't have to keep backtracking between hunts to pick him up; he can stay with us all the time. We'll be able to do more jobs - "

"Dad, you're not thinking about Sam here at all!"

"It's best for all of us, Dean," John said dismissively. "Go on now. Start packing."

OOOOOO

Dean watched as Sam packed. He made two piles – one for packing and the other for discards. The only things going into his duffel were clothing, weapons and a few research books. The discard pile was getting pretty damned big.

Dean walked over and looked through it. Books, school papers – shit, the soccer trophy his brother won two years ago. He looked up at Sam but before he could say anything, Sam said, "I'm not talking about this, Dean."

Dean said it anyway. "You don't have to quit school, Sammy."

Sam dumped another book on the discard pile. Cooper's 'Last of the Mohicans'; one of his favorites.

"Sam, come on, cut this shit out -"

Sam swung to face him and Dean took an involuntary step back at the sudden fury and pain on his brother's face.

"You told me to grow up, Dean. That's what I'm doing! Growing up! So why don't you just leave me alone and stop pretending that you give a shit - " Sam stopped abruptly when he saw the hurt blossom on Dean's face. The anger slowly drained out of him. He turned back to his packing. "Just drop it, Dean. I'm done fighting him."

Finished with his packing, the last of his belongings stowed in the duffel, he moved to pick up his discard pile.

Dean got to it first. "I'll take care of it, Sammy," he said quietly.

When he carried the discards through the living room, John looked up from the couch where he was going over some weapons and raised an eyebrow. "What's all that?"

"Stuff Sam says he doesn't need anymore," Dean said shortly.

John eyed the pile. "Huh." His attention went back to the weapons.

Dean stared at him angrily. "You're a selfish bastard, you know that?"

John's hands stilled. He didn't look up when Dean walked away.

OOOOOO

Sam watched as his brother left the room, tears hot in his eyes.

It's just stuff! Possessions. I don't need them. They're holding me back from being who I need to be.

Forcing the tears back, he made a final sweep through the room, making sure he wasn't leaving anything behind.

Bullshit and tears aside, he knew it wasn't just getting rid of the books that hurt so badly. Not just the memory of the soccer championship. And not just quitting school.

He was saying good-bye to hope. Good-bye to dreams of a life apart from hunting. Throwing away college and friends, and the hope that someday he would have a family of his own.

Instead, he would have a father who saw him as a soldier instead of a son, a brother who loved him, but also saw him as a burden, and a life full of blood and pain and death.

The one consolation about this shit storm of a life? It wasn't likely to be a long one.