Thank you so much Jenjoremy, Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all your help getting this chapter written and ready to be read. I love you ladies.

HAPPY NEW YEAR PEOPLE!

2016 sucked in a lot of ways for a lot of us but with you all and your support for The Brotherhood series it was good a lot of the time for me. Thank you all xxx

Chapter Eleven

Sam was out running when Dean got out of the shower, and Ellen and Jo were in the bar. He could hear the clinking sounds as they stacked clean glasses on the shelves and filled the fridges. He smiled to himself at the good, homey sounds. They were a comfort after his rough night. Ever since they'd gotten back from Columbus, Dean had been having nightmares. He wandered endless heavens, memories of his life, searching for something, but the longer he searched the harder it became to remember what he was looking for until, at the point of waking, he could no longer remember what he had lost, only that his life would be forever changed because of it. The shock of that woke him every time.

But Sam was back. They were together. It was all going to be okay. At least that was how he reassured himself when the fear tried to creep back in.

When he was dressed, he went into the kitchen to retrieve a coffee and then wandered outside to see if the mail was there as he did most mornings. The flag was up on the mailbox, and Dean opened the door and pulled out the sheaf of envelopes. He never got mail at The Roadhouse—though it was his official address now—so he didn't check the addressees. He just patted the bundle against his leg and went back inside and through the bar to put them down on the counter.

Jo looked up and smiled at him then her eyes fell on the envelopes and she grabbed at them. "Awesome! Mail."

Ellen straightened from where she was crouching by the fridges and scowled at her daughter. "Have you signed up for another free sample?"

"Yep," Jo said cheerily, sorting through the mail. "It's a new…" She trailed off, frowning.

"What's up?" Dean asked.

Jo held up a stiff cream envelope in answer. Dean saw the logo above the return address and his stomach lurched. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

Ellen didn't seem to recognize it, as she brushed her hands on a cloth and reached for the envelope. Jo handed it over and Ellen read the return address, sucking in a sharp breath as her eyes widened. She flipped the envelope and saw the addressee and she gaped at Dean who was wishing more than anything that he hadn't brought the mail into the bar. This wasn't supposed to happen yet. Sam would be pissed.

"Stanford?" Ellen whispered.

"Uh… yeah." Dean bit his bottom lip.

"Stanford?" she said again. "My boy, college!"

"Maybe," Dean said. "Look, we didn't tell you because we didn't want this happening until we knew it was for sure. You can't go over the top until it's sorted."

"Sam's going to Stanford?" Jo asked, apparently not listening to a word he'd said. "As in college?"

"Maybe," Dean said again. "Can we just take a breath and calm down? If you're freaking out when he gets here, he's going to freak, too, or shut down, and we all know how that ends. Let's just be calm, okay?"

For all the good it did, Dean could have stayed silent. Jo was grinning fit to bust and Ellen was wiping at her eyes. Then, as if things couldn't go any more wrong, Sam came through the door to the back, a bottle of water in his hand and the pumped look he always had after a run these days on his face. It quickly faded as he took in the room. Dean standing with his hands raised placatingly, Jo clutching the envelope, and Ellen wiping at her wet eyes.

"What's happened?" he asked tensely.

"Secret's out," Dean said as Ellen held out the envelope to him mutely.

Sam took it and his face paled slightly as he flipped it over and saw the return address.

"Open it!" Ellen commanded.

Sam was either obeying automatically or he was just as eager as them all to see what was inside. He tore at the flap and pulled out a single sheet of paper. His eyes scanned the words and his expression became closed off.

Sure it was bad news, Dean stepped forward, a hand raised to comfort Sam, but Sam held out the paper to him and he took it. Reading, his smile gradually appeared again and became wide and excited. "Sammy…"

"What?" Ellen asked. "What do they say?"

"I've got an interview," Sam said quietly. "I've…" He cleared his throat. "They want to talk to me about studying there. Right?" He looked at Dean as if he didn't believe what he had just read.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. They want to meet you."

"My God," Ellen said, her hand over her mouth.

Sam looked at her and his mouth turned down. "Don't be mad," he said quietly. "It's not forever and I won't give it all up. I'll keep fighting, I just… I need to do this. Do you understand?"

"Mad?" Ellen shook her head and wiped at her wet face. "I'm not mad, sweetie. I'm happy. So happy. This is what I've wanted for you since… forever. This is incredible."

Sam smiled tentatively. "Yeah?"

She rushed forward and, against his protests that he was sweaty, flung her arms around him. She gripped him with all her not insubstantial strength and Sam slowly began to relax into it. When she pulled back, his smile was more certain.

"You're doing this, Sam," she said forcefully.

"Slow down," Sam said. "They may not want me."

"Of course they will," Jo protested. "And anyway, so what if they don't? Stanford might be too stupid to have you, but there are other colleges. You're a genius, Sam. They'll want you even if Stanford doesn't." She breathed out shakily. "This is going to happen."

"We'll make it happen," Ellen said forcefully. "We will all make it work." She smiled. "My boy is going to college."

Dean watched a tentative hope fill his brother's eyes as he looked down at the letter in his hand. It wasn't a place at Stanford, not yet, but it was a big step toward it. Sam was back, he was happy, and he was going to college. It was going to be okay.

Dean sighed as he pulled the phone out of his pocket. He knew even before he checked the caller ID who it would be as she had called four times already in the hour he'd been sitting outside the café.

"Hello, Ellen."

"Is he out yet?" she asked without greeting.

Dean rolled his eyes. Sam had promised that he would call as soon as he got out of his interview, but she didn't seem to trust him to keep his word.

"Not yet."

"What's taking so long?"

"These things take a while," Dean said. "They've got a lot to go through. After all, it is Stanford."

"They'd be mad not to take him."

"Agreed. But let's not pile on the pressure, okay? He's probably stressed out enough as it is. He doesn't need our expectations making it harder for him."

"I know," she sighed. "It's just, I want this for him so much. He deserves it after everything he's given for the world. It's time something went his way."

Sam had given too much. He had given his life, his freedom, his heaven. He'd lost family to the fight, the most important people in his world. If anyone deserved to get what he wanted, it was him. Dean's only fear was that he wouldn't let himself have it. He worried that when faced with the choice of a hunt or college, Sam would choose the hunt—the lives he could save instead of the books he could study.

As if Dean's thoughts had summoned him, Sam appeared at the end of the street the café Dean had chosen to wait in was located on. He caught sight of Dean and weaved his way around the people on the sidewalk towards him. As Sam took the seat Dean had pushed out for him, he mouthed, "Ellen?"

Dean nodded and held out the phone. Sam took it, and brought it to his ear. "Hey, Ellen," he said.

While he listened to Sam deflecting Ellen's questions with gentle ease, Dean tried to read Sam's expression. He looked more strained than happy, but Dean thought he could read something in his eyes that he hoped meant something good.

"I'll tell you all about it when I get back," Sam promised Ellen. "Right now, I need a drink. We'll be home soon." He smiled. "I know. See you real soon." He ended the call and handed the phone back to Dean.

"So…" Dean said slowly. "You want to talk about it?"

Sam shook his head. "I want a drink." He looked scornfully at Dean's coffee. "A proper one."

"There's a place just up the street," Dean said.

They stood and Dean dropped a bill down onto the table to cover the tip. They walked along the street in silence, Dean leading them to the bar he'd spotted earlier. He pushed the door open and gestured Sam inside. Sam took a deep breath as he entered, and Dean thought he was absorbing the familiar scent of beer and the indefinable smell of a cheap bar—the scents of The Roadhouse. It was a cheap place, and the clientele seemed to be college students and older men. Sam seemed comfortable as he stepped up to the bar and leaned against it. It made Dean smile

A bartender came to them, an older man with an impressive beard, and asked, "What can I get you, fellas?"

"Beer and a whiskey, please, whatever you have on tap." He glanced at Dean. "Beer?"

Dean nodded. They had a motel booked in town so they were free to both have a drink.

"Two beers," Sam amended.

Sam's eyes roved the room as they waited for their drinks. Not a hunter's gaze, assessing danger, more an appraising look.

Their drinks arrived and Sam led them to a table at the back of the room. The jukebox was playing some pop hit that grated on Dean's nerves and there was a TV on the wall silently playing a news channel. Dean watched it for a moment, reading the subtitles describing the story of a recent death in the area. He was waiting for Sam to speak, not wanting to pressure him, though his curiosity was killing him.

Sam slugged back his whiskey and followed it with a swig of beer then paused a moment before saying, "There's a scholarship I can maybe get if they accept me."

Biting back a wide smile, Dean kept his voice casual as he said, "Yeah?"

Sam nodded. "It's for what they call 'non-traditional' students." He shook his head with a smile. "They have no idea just how 'non-traditional' I am. Anyway, the scholarship would cover tuition and course materials."

"What do we have to do?" Dean asked.

"I already did it. Filled out a provisional application. If I get a place, they'll make a decision."

Dean chanced a question, hoping to lead Sam into talking about what he really needed to know—how it had gone. "What was the interviewer like?"

"He was okay," Sam said vaguely. "Teaches English variations. He seemed decent enough. We talked about a lot of things that had nothing to do with college, though. I can't tell if that's good or bad."

"What kind of things?"

"Family. Lifestyles. He was curious about how I spent my time since high school. I told him basically the truth—omitting the supernatural. I said Dad needed me. I told him I helped dad work small jobs around the country and then, when he died, I took some time to deal with some family stuff." He took another swig of his beer. "I think… I think it went okay."

A smile crept across Dean's face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I don't want to jinx it or anything. He said he had to write a report of our meeting which would go before a panel, and then they'd decide whether or not to take me."

Dean leaned over and clapped him on the shoulder. "That's awesome, Sammy. Well done."

Sam smiled sheepishly. "Thanks, man. Let's not tell Ellen and Jo yet though. I don't want them celebrating just to be disappointed when it all craps out."

Dean understood Sam's worry. He wished he would have a little more confidence in himself though. The only time Sam seemed to accept his accomplishments and have faith was when it came down to hunting. He knew he was a good hunter, but he didn't have the same self-belief in other aspects of his life.

"It might not crap out, you know," he said.

Sam looked thoughtful. "I know. It's just…" He drew a deep breath. "I want this, Dean, like I haven't wanted anything in the longest time. I haven't had many choices in my life since high school. It feels like everything was decided for me, you know what I mean?"

Dean nodded. He could understand that for Sam.

"But here I have a chance to do something for me. I looked around that campus on my way to the interview, and I saw all those students working their asses off but loving it, and I felt more out of place than I ever have, but I didn't want to. I wanted to belong, you know? I want to study. I want to better myself. I want to be…"

"Normal?" Dean ventured.

Sam shook his head. "I want to be free. But…" He lowered his voice. "Does that make me a bad person? Am I failing by cutting down on the hunts?"

Dean gripped his wrist hard. "No! You're taking what you've earned. You're not the only hunter out there, Sam. There are more, and they can save lives while you live yours for a change. You can still help; you can advise and inform the others if you want—be like Bobby. Sure, we need to deal with Crowley, but for the first time in forever, we have real backup: Death is on our side. The angels are all working to the same goal. We're going to win this and then you'll be free, Sam. Do you trust me?"

"I always do," Sam said seriously.

"Then trust me on this. You're not failing. You're living. If anyone deserves that, it's you."

"You do, too," Sam said.

Dean grinned. "Then we'll do it together. Deal?"

Sam reached across the table and they shook hands. "Deal."

Dean watched Sam talking with the bartender as he waited for their drinks order, and he marveled at how much Sam had changed. Now that he knew about Gabriel blocking Sam's memories of Hell, he understood a little more. Sam wanted to be free. He was already partway there; he just had to take the last step, actually step away from the life and become a civilian for a while, and it'd all have been worth it.

Dean hadn't regretted the deal that saved Sam, not even when he'd been on the rack under Alastair's knife, because it had saved the most important person in his life, but now that he saw Sam preparing the live the life he'd wanted since he was a kid, he felt more satisfaction in his choice than ever. He had made it possible.

Sam turned away from the bar and came back to their table carrying two bottles of beer and two shot glasses. He set them down and slid into his seat. "What are you grinning about?" he asked.

"Nothing," Dean said, quickly reaching for his shot and knocking it back.

Sam eyed him for a moment, smiling slightly, and then he drank a swig of his beer. "So," he said, "tell me more about college life."

Dean had been sharing memories of his own time in college, explaining how it had felt to go from being a hunter to being a student and how he had managed his own studies with difficulties like his second, rowdier roommate. He started to speak about his final year, but cut off as the bar door flew open and a young man rushed in. He was wild eyed and clearly agitated about something. The bar quieted with his dramatic arrival and his voice carried over the jukebox as he yelled, "Professor Rothschild has jumped!" He paused dramatically. "Off the roof!"

A ripple of shocked gasps swept through the room like a breeze and then people started talking, some excited, others sounding upset, as they got to their feet and rushed out of the bar.

Sam's expression was dour as he knocked back his shot and got to his feet. "Come on," he said quietly.

Dean stood and followed him out of the bar, following the crowd of rowdy students. They walked along the street toward campus at a sedate pace compared to the people who were running with ghoulish glee.

He saw the blue lights from the squad cars flashing over the walls of the buildings. The sight of them seemed to draw Sam on, and he started to jog. He reached the crowd first, and Dean saw his face twist into a grimace.

Cops were trying to keep the people back, but they jostled and pushed forward. Dean peered through the crowd and saw the body on the ground. The man was facedown, his limbs at awkward angles and a pool of blood beneath him.

Sam was stiff at his side and Dean glanced at him. He wasn't expecting his brother to look so strained. As tragic as it was, Sam had seen more than his fair share of death in his life, but he didn't usually look that rattled in the face of it.

Dean looked around the crowd, glancing up at the building. It was six stories–high enough to kill. Then something caught his eye and he patted Sam's chest. "Hey. There's someone up there."

Sam's head snapped up and he set off moving away from the crowd. He jogged around the building to the back. There was a flight of steps that served the fire escape doors on each level. Sam unlatched the gate at the very bottom and started up the steps. Dean followed on his heels, murmuring under his breath, "I haven't got a gun, Sam,"

Sam stopped just below the roof level and reached into his boot for a knife and handed it back to Dean.

"What are you using?" Dean asked.

"God given brawn," Sam replied in a whisper.

Dean tugged his arm and stepped around him. If he was the only one armed, he was the one taking point. He crept up the last few steps and onto the roof. There was a man standing right in front of him. He looked younger than Sam, and confident, as if meeting people on rooftops that people had just jumped—or been pushed—off was normal.

Dean gripped the knife tightly in his hand as Sam pushed past him and faced off with the man.

"Who are you?" Sam asked, his hands fisted at his sides.

"Jack Austen," the man said mildly, looking from Dean to Sam, his eyes narrowed. "You?"

"Sam Winchester. This is Dean."

Jack smiled slightly and raised his hands. "The Winchesters, huh. Good to see you."

"Do I know you?" Sam asked,

Jack shook up his sleeve and revealed a tattoo on his wrist. "No, but I've heard all about you."

Dean looked down at the tattoo, the copy of the one he had on his collarbone. "You're a hunter?"

He nodded. "I am. And you boys are interrupting my hunt."

So… College is becoming more of a reality but they've maybe stumbled upon a hunt. Poor guys can't catch a break.

I'm curious—how do you feel about Sam and Dean hanging up their hats for school and work? I usually have a strong opinion on it, but for this story, it felt like something that should be explored.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx