AN: Thanks to Kathy, OldGirl-NoraArlani, Rosegirl94, sjwmaw and especially AlxM for their super kind reviews. And thanks to everyone who is following this story. I promise not to let you down. In fact, everyone's support and encouragement has inspired me to update a day early! So here you go (I'll try and post again Sunday.)

His eyes were gritty from focusing on the road and Sam rubbed them with a knuckle before slurping the last of the coffee he'd picked up when he'd stopped for gas. The one advantage of driving all night is that he made good time. There was little traffic on the highway and he was able to get some impressive speed out of the borrowed SUV. Winnemucca was only about 40 minutes away and it wasn't even 6:00 am yet. Of course, the closer he got to the motel, the more anxious he was getting.

Despite the queasy feeling in his stomach, he was praying that Dad's phone call had just been some kind of sick tactic to get him to come back to hunting. Dad was certainly capable of being that cruel if he wanted. Dean was probably fine, sent somewhere by Dad for a stupid training exercise or something. Sam wanted so much to believe that his brother was waiting for him at the motel with a grin on his face and an apology for Dad's behaviour on his lips. But what if it was true? Sam's gut clenched again at the thought and a burst of rage made his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. If Dean was dead…then it was Dad's fault. Dad had spent Dean's entire life grooming him to be the perfect hunter. Dean had never had a chance to pursue his own life.

When Sam left for Stanford he had intended to change that, to ask Dean to come with him. His thoughts raced back to that night.

xxxxxxx

The door of the house the little family was squatting in had slammed with a force that shook flakes of paint off the siding. Sam slung the duffle bag that held all his worldly possessions forcefully over one shoulder and started walking. The night was dark and damp, but the heat of his anger kept him warm as he marched towards the highway. Dad's last words rang in his ears.

"Fine! I guess some fancy school is more important to you than this family. So go! Get out! But if you're going, then you better stay gone!" Dad had shouted, his face red and his eyes dark.

Dad was so infuriating, the man never listened to him. Always throwing orders around, especially to Dean. Acting like we're his soldiers rather than his sons. Sam snorted in disgust at his own thoughts. The rage that coursed through Sam muffled the pain and fear of storming away from everything he'd ever known. It wasn't until he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala pull up behind him that he'd even thought about Dean. Sam stopped when the car came beside him, but he refused to look at his brother. Dean hadn't said a single word during the argument, just stood there watching. He was always following Dad's orders, never standing up to their father. Dad had probably sent him to bring him back. Dean leaned over and opened the passenger door.

"Get in," he said quietly. Dean's soft request stalled Sam who had been ready to begin shouting again. For a long moment he wasn't sure if he could get into the car, but one look at Dean's face and he dumped his bags into the back seat and slid into his usual place at shotgun.

"I'm going Dean, and there's nothing you can do to stop me!" Sam may be willing to accept a ride, but he was damned if he was going to let his brother try and talk him out of his decision.

"I know," Dean said, still in that quiet voice. Sam glanced over as Dean just stared through the windshield, the car still in park. "Sam," he began with a sigh, "Dad...he just…" Sam's fury reignited.

"Don't you dare try and defend him! Don't you dare!" Sam's roar was too loud in the small space and he tried to lower his voice. "I tried to talk to him, Dean, I really did. But there's just no talking to the man. He treats me like some spoiled little kid running away to join the circus, but I'm going to college - a really good college. I'm going to build a future - one that isn't full of blood and death and monsters."

"I know," Dean said again with another sigh. His brother looked at him. His face was partially shrouded by the shadows, but Dean looked sad in the darkness. "Where do you want me to take you?" Dean's calmness punched through Sam's anger and he felt himself deflating with a sigh of his own.

"To the bus station. There's a midnight bus to Sacramento." Sam collapsed back into the seat, exhausted from the emotions of the night. More than anything he wanted to get away from Dad, and their life of pain and horror and death. And he wanted Dean with him, wanted to start a new life together with his brother, give Dean the chance to become something - anything other than a hunter. He tried to find the words that would convince Dean to come with him as he watched the streetlights slide by the passenger window.

Less than 20 minutes later, Sam hadn't figured out what he wanted to say. He looked across at Dean as they pulled into the bus station. The place was quiet at this time of night, a sleepy security guard only vaguely interested as the Impala turned into the lot. When Dean turned the car off, the silence grew thick around them. And that's when it hit Sam. He was going to get on a bus, travel over 1,000 miles to Palo Alto and he was going to be completely alone for maybe the first time in his life. There was a certain thrill to be finally pursuing his dreams, but one look at Dean made him want to cry. He had no idea when or if he would see his brother again. Sam felt himself desperate for Dean's reassurance, that they could do this together, that he wouldn't have to be alone.

"Dean -," he began, but the older man cut him off. His big brother stuck a hand into his pocket and held out a wad of cash.

"Here, take it," Dean said.

Sam was both touched and offended. That had to be the earnings from more than a few weeks of hustling pool. Dean wasn't stupid, he must have known this day was coming and had saved the money to give to him. Sam too had been saving hard for the past year and he had a several hundred dollars buried deep inside his duffle.

"Thanks, but I'm okay." Sam didn't want to owe his brother anymore than he already did.

"Don't be an idiot, take it," Dean said more forcefully, shoving it against Sam's chest. Sam huffed in frustration, but took the money, tucking it into a secure inside pocket of his jacket.

"Thanks," he said grudgingly. Sam opened his mouth again to ask Dean to come to California with him, but his brother's next words stopped him.

"I wish I could take you all the way to Palo Alto, but I've got to get back to Dad. We're leaving tomorrow for a job in Arkansas." Dean sounded tired and his voice was husky with true regret, but Sam's temper flared again.

"Sure...we both know what Dad really cares about." Even to his own ears, Sam sounded like a whiny brat, but he couldn't help it. If Dean was going to pick Dad over him, he wasn't going to beg. Dean had make his choice. He pushed open the passenger door with some aggression and reached into the back seat for his gear. A hand shot out and gripped his shoulder. Sam paused, but refused to look at Dean.

"Sammy, I…" Dean cleared his throat. "You've got this, I know you do. But...uh, if you need anything, anything at all, you call alright?" There was a tremor in his brother's voice that Sam had never heard before. He finally looked over at Dean, and met his eyes which sparkled wetly in the lights from the station. Warm fingers squeezed his shoulder one last time before Dean turned away and put his hands back on the steering wheel. "Be safe, Sam."

With that, Sam pulled his bags over the seat back and got out of the car. He closed the door with a final thud and walked to the station. It took a great deal of willpower, but he didn't look back until he was at the door. Only when he was in the brightly lit station, did he turn and watch the gleaming shadow that was the Impala, turn out of the parking lot and disappear into the darkness.

xxxxxxx

A short honk of a horn startled Sam out of his thoughts and he realized that he was stopped at a green light in Winnemucca with an impatient early morning driver behind him. He waved an apology and made the turn. Sam could see the sign for the Country Hearth Inn farther down the main drag. In just another couple of minutes, he pulled into the parking lot. His father's big black truck was parked at the end of the row and beside it, his brother's beloved Impala. The sun was just rising, but the morning was misty, cold and damp. Sam brought the SUV to a stop across the lot and gathered himself. There was no way he was ready. If Dean was really gone...well Sam had no idea how to process even the concept of that. And his Dad...he was still so angry at the man. Reluctantly, Sam turned off the car and climbed out.

As if his Dad had heard his thoughts, his father stood, framed in the open motel door waiting for him. Sam approached warily. He hadn't seen his Dad since the night he'd left for Stanford. Dad looked older, he was unshaven, and his dark beard was shot with grey that hadn't been there last year. His clothes were rumpled and slept in, and his eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot. The man who in his memory was always stoic and unyielding, the larger than life soldier, seemed smaller, diminished somehow.

Sam felt a sluggish sense of comfort in seeing Dad, after a long and agonizing night. It was unexpected, but a small part of him wanted to feel Dad's strong arms wrapped around him again. But then the warm feelings were wiped away violently by the sight of an open bottle of whisky in his father's hand. Sam could feel his jaw clench. Anger and hurt crashed through him and he wanted to throw a punch, but instead he clenched his fist in the pocket of his jacket and kept his cool. His father stepped out of the way of the door.

"Hi Sam," he said softly. Sam paused in front of him, too angry to do more than meet Dad's eyes, with a hard look. As they stared at each other for a moment, he could see flashes of emotion cross Dad's face, emotions that he didn't remember ever seeing in his father. Guilt, sorrow, pain. Dean could always read Dad, but Sam had never seen much but anger and disappointment before in his father's face.

"Where's Dean," Sam said, unable to bring himself to greet his Dad like it was any old day, as if his year in college has just been a vacation. With a gruff clearing of his throat and a stiff nod, the stoic soldier's mask slid into position on Dad's face and he simply pointed into the room. Sam stepped past his father and the older man followed, closing the door behind them.