Really short. My muse is deserting me. Sad times indeed. I guess I just have to think hardy. Any ideas or things you want to see would be more than appreciated.

After Sam Left For Stanford

He missed Sam. He missed him already. He was sure they missed him too. Surely they blamed him for letting him go. Surely they blamed him for driving him away. He blamed himself. He hadn't meant to. John had only wanted to protect him. Prepare him for the world they lived in. Every father wants to do that for his son. But not many fathers were prepared themselves. They didn't really know the world they lived in. the evil around them. He definitely didn't know. He was not ready, unsuspecting, and naïve and it had cost him his wife. He couldn't do that again. No father should have to bury his children.

So he trained them. Yeah, sometimes he was a bit tough, but if he wasn't they would NEVER learn. They would NEVER be ready to fight. Because that's what he saw this as. A war. And it was one that he wouldn't let his soldiers lose. Dean was his second in command. He followed order and took over when he was needed. He'd made some mistakes here or there early on in his training. But after the time he almost let a Striga kill Sam, he followed orders without question. It didn't bother him that they weren't "normal." He liked the adrenaline rush and adventure that came with hunting and he liked being good at it.

When Becca was informed of their life, she was unhappier that she was adopted than she was about the fact that there really were evil demons that she'd have to fight. She never really complained about having to hunt. She complained more about not being able to go on tougher hunts like her brothers did sometimes. She didn't really like moving around, but she knew they were leaving to find another job and fight another demon…and save another family.

Sam… Sam was just different. He was so smart and it upset him not to know ALL of the facts. "How late are we gonna be out?" "Does the new town have a good school?" He needed to question everything and confirm that it was right "Are you sure we need the holy water for this one?" "How do you know the grave is empty?" Nothing was ever just an order to Sam. Plus he wasn't satisfied with learning about demons. He needed to know about "normal" stuff. He really wanted to be normal. He couldn't understand that normal wasn't safe. Normal was unprepared. John tried his hardest to drill that into the boys head.

And now look where it had gotten him. Alone in his room, the acceptance letter to Stanford in his hand. Sammy was gone. Dean was comforting brokenhearted Becca in his room. And there was john. All alone. All alone. He'd only wanted to keep them safe. Now he'd forced him out into the chaos to be venerable and without help. John cried as he thought about this. He didn't cry often. He was a tough man. He was a fighter. But there was more to him. As he cried, he was nothing more than a scared father.

Dean-19

Sam-15

Becca-10

Sam looked at the building. It wasn't just a building. It was a school. A new school. Another new school. Didn't he just do this in September. And again in November… and again in February. For most kids, they only had o go through the worst day of the year once. Dean tried to help him (after all he's seen his share of first days too.) He explained that on the first day the most important thing to do is always be late. If you were on time or God forbid early, it was inevitable to not only look like a major overeager nerd, but end up in some extremely popular/belligerent guy's seat and/or ruining the flow of the world. It wasn't fair. But then again who said life was fair? Certainly not his father. According to john Winchester, Sam was damn lucky he was even going to school and he shouldn't forget it. It wasn't that he didn't think he was lucky. School was one of the best parts of his life. Certainly the most normal. It was just… his father acted as if school was a burden and Sam was a burden for enjoying it.

Most parents would celebrate their kids excitement about his school work. He'd seen it on TV. Fathers clapping their sons on the back and congratulating them on their achievements. Mothers giving hugs and making celebration dinners. Well his father was more of a drill sergeant than a dad and his mother…

So he'd continue to be the black sheep of the family. He'd work hard in school and get straight A's even if it meant not knowing everything there was to know about some demon he might never actually face. He'd ace his test and write an amazing application essay and get into to some college. ANY college. Maybe then his father would see. Maybe then he might understand and he'd be proud and tell him he did a good job. He'd work hard and make that happen.

But first things first. Up the steps and into this new school for yet another first day.

Dean- 23

Sam-19

Becca-14

John smiled. "You're going to end up a prime example for those childhood obesity studies if you keep that up."

"Wonder if they pay you for those" Dean said finishing off grease-ridden cheeseburger and opening a new bag of skittles. "I mean why else would people do a study that proves they're fat."

"I don't think that's the point of the whole thing son. I think it's a health issue or something. Apparently they have discovered that junk food isn't good for you. Who would have thunk it." John said sarcastically.

"Well that is precisely why we don't have to worry."

"Please explain."

"This," Dean said holding up his skittles and M&M bags "is not junk food. This is Dean Winchester on the road survival food."

"Sure it is." John laughed.

There was a moment of silence before Dean asked the question he'd wanted to ask all night. "So how was he?"

John cleared his throat. It had been a whole day since he'd gotten back from his chuck-up trip to Stanford. He thought maybe Dean wouldn't ask him about it. He'd hoped Dean wouldn't ask him about it. "He's getting sloppy. He's still putting salt by the windows and doors but it's rushed." John said going back to cleaning his pile of weapons.

"But he's not hurt or anything?" Dean tried to sound calm, but the worry was clearly in his voice.

"No." John said. "He's not hurt."

"Does he… did it look like he had friends?"

"Yeah he's… he's doing okay I guess." John said. Before Dean could get out another question John changed the subject. "Is that my knife?" He asked pointing to Dean's pile of weapons.

"Oh, um yeah. Sorry. I borrowed it for the job in Kansas." Dean explained.

"I was looking for that. Next time ask okay."

"Yes sir." Dean said. He felt that conversation being forced to an end. He didn't know why his father and brother acted that way about each other. They clearly loved each other and at the same time couldn't stand to even talk to each other. It was something Dean would never understand.