September 2001
"Mary," John scolded, "quit fussing over the boy. He's going to be just fine."
She continued her pointless fiddling with Sam's jacket. "Well, it's just that California is so far away," she raked Sam's mop off hair up out of his eyes. It promptly fell right back in, "and he's my baby...and..." Sam looked pained but was regardless enduring her attentions with all the tired tolerance he could muster.
Dean had been uncomfortably watching the scene unfold. He knew his brother, and he knew that Mary's fawning and worrying wasn't doing Sam any good. They were, in fact, lighting the fuse on Sam's natural self doubts and he could almost track how far it burned down the longer she had gone on. When John pulled her off of Sam, and into a reassurring hug, Dean had taken the opportunity to pounce.
Moving in swiftly, he grabbed Sam by the arm and steered him off through the airport crowd, just a short way, just enough to make some space and buy some time while Dad had Mom distracted.
"Dad's right, you know." he said once he'd settled them into a little island amidst the bodies that flowed around them, in pursuit of their own business, "You're going to be just fine." His face broke into an elated smile, "Damn Sammy, I am so freakin' proud of you, Stanford on a full ride." He punched Sam in the arm, a little too hard from the way Sam winced. OK, he was as bad as Mom, so sue him.
"Thanks Dean," Sam rubbed his arm. Whether he meant 'thanks' for the rescue or the praise was anybody's guess. "Guess Dad's going to have to find something else to do with that college fund." he snapped his mouth shut on the words too late. Dean had opted to put his fund towards a buy in on John's garage, and it was a sore spot between them. Sam just didn't understand why someone with his brother's potential would choose a life of oil changes and tire rotations. Dean defended the life that was good enough for their father as being good enough for him. The argument never got settled, just had lengthy cease fires.
"Hey," Sam broke the uneasy silence, "You take good care of Mom and Dad...and the garage. I'm going to need the family business to fall back on if this higher education thing goes bust."
Dean snorted, "Like I'd trust you under the hood of my own car, much less a customer's. I should never have let you drive her, put ideas in your head."
"Well," Sam countered, "I could manage the office. Do all that paperwork you're always avoiding."
Dean's sense snapped out of brotherly banter mode and onto high alert. Sam was starting to spiral. He grabbed ahold of Sam's shoulder. "You listen to me," he said firmly, "That is not going to happen, because you are going to take that big brain of yours off to Stanford and show those west coast, trust fund brats that anything they can do, a hard working, blue collar boy from the Kansas wheat fields can do better. You hear me?"
Sam shrugged non-committedly, earning himself a backhanded slap to the shoulder. "Hey!" Dean said sharply, "You hear me?" he repeated.
Sam straightened out of his slouch a bit, "Yeah, I hear you, Dean." He wasn't convinced, and Dean knew it, but he'd take it. Sammy was a process, always had been.
"That's my boy. Now you remember that. If I have to road trip all the way out to Cali to remind you, I'm gonna be pissed." Sam nodded in reply.
It was an old dance, choreographed over the course of their whole lives, the steps familar from repetition. Whether teaching him to throw a ball or throw a punch, Dean had always believed in Sam more than Sam did in himself. Dean would build him up, and after some initial resistance, Sam would allow it, more for Dean's sake than his own.
Through the crowd, Dean caught a glimpse of Mary bearing down on them, John in tow. He clapped Sam on the back turning him away from their approaching parents, trying to buy as many extra seconds as he could. "OK, real quick before Mom gets ahold of you again, I got you something. It's not a present or anything, it's just, well it's college, so it's just some stuff I know you'll be needing." He jammed a rumpled Gas Mart bag into Sam's pocket seconds before Mary smothered him in a tearful hug. Dean exchanged sympathetic looks with his father behind her back while Sam dutifully promised, yet again, to call every week.
It wasn't until Sam was settled on the plane that idle boredom led him to examine Dean's not-present. In all his time at school, he never did open either the bottle of aspirin or the box of condoms. Instead, they had a special place on his dresser, right beside the framed picture of his parents.