4. School Ties

The sandy-haired Winchester snapped his head up as the hiss and groan of the bus's brakes filled the late November air. A handful of people stepped on, mostly around his age and took their perspective seats. The hiss returned as the bus shifted back into gear and jerked forward. Dean quickly searched for the stop number that was quickly fading into rearview, hoping to everything holy he didn't miss the right stop. He let out a relieved breath when he saw there was one more to go.

Dean flexed his nervous, and damn near shaking, hands, and tried hard to ignore the churning of his stomach and the continual, uncontrollable bouncing his right leg was doing. Why am I doing this again? Oh yeah.

Bobbing his head anxiously, he reached slowly into his pocket and pulled out his battered cell phone. With deft fingers, Dean opened his messages and selected voicemail. He waited impatiently for the automated voice to tell him to enter his password and press pound, before punching in the numbers at rapid speed and holding the phone fast against his ear.

He let out a steadying breath, and visibly relaxed, every nervous movement ceasing as the message replayed itself for what had to be the fortieth time since he'd received it.

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Uh…hey, Dean. How's it going with you…and Dad? I'm fine. Busy, you know? Uh…yeah, if you are around campus on Thursday I have a break from 12:30—1:15. So we could hang out or eat or something. I'll be in Sloan Math Center. It's in the Main Quad. Alright, so see you then.

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Four months was far too long to wait just to hear you little brother's voice. At first, Dean had been hurt, beyond shattered, when Sam didn't even bother to call him or write him after he'd stormed out. That rage-filled night, Dean had initially believed that his little brother was walking out on his father and their lifestyle—not on him.

He was big brother. The coolest one Sam would ever have, although seeing as he was the only older brother Sam could have he was automatically given the title but then again, winning on a technicality was never a bad thing. It became obvious after a couple weeks of absolutely zero communication that Sam didn't hold the same idea of Dean as big brother thought he did.

Dean had tried to rationalize it at first. That to Sam, maybe calling was a way of recanting the mess of horrible things thrown in his father's face and admitting a wrong where there was none. But Dean hadn't done anything wrong either. He'd played mediator, and supporter to the best of his ability, and still got the same harsh treatment as the supposed bad guy in Sammy's mind.

The older brother honestly didn't know what was worse—having your brother leave on a furious rampage and simply break all contact or trying to reestablish a severed relationship by leaving unreturned messages and working your damn best to not sound desperate and lonely while doing so. But this time had been different. This time Sam had called back and Dean had never been more scared and excited in his entire life.

If time could stop, Dean was pretty sure it did when his dad had informed him that they would be taking a short break and traveling to Santa Clara, California to meet up with his former Marine buddy turned hunter like himself. The jobs had been slow and rather hard to come by the past couple of months and supposedly Chuck knew of some leads that could be some high class gigs. However, the only thing Dean had noticed when his dad had thrown him the map and told him to figure out the best route was how close Santa Clara was positioned to Palo Alto on the map.

His dad hadn't mentioned it. Not one word. In fact, his father had rarely mentioned Sam unless he was making a joke or something, never in retrospect or reminiscence. Dean really wondered sometimes if his dad had the ability to truly shut off himself from his youngest son.

He really didn't understand how his father could though. Sam haunted Dean's thoughts every waking moment, and his little brother's spiteful words ravaged his worse nightmares. He never voiced it though, the missing of his younger brother. Dad was never one to indulge in the moment, so to speak, and Dean likewise. They communicated in silence, something Sam never could understand.

By the time, the midnight Impala crossed the California state line, Dean's plan was already set in motion. He had called Sam mere minutes after his dad had left the hotel room. He'd tried his best to sound nonchalant like this was merely a passing through and if Sam wanted to hang out, he was willing.

The older son had also outline the bus line, and had a ticket on hold. A trip to Palo Alto was only around a half and hour depending on traffic and the number of stops. Finding the math building proved a bit of a challenge, but Dean had actually dug some of the old Stanford pamphlets out of the trash and saved them all those months ago, thankfully the campus map was on the back.

All that remained was getting past his dad, the Marine that he was, not to mention hunter. For all the time he spent away on jobs when they were kids, it always surprised Dean how much his father really knew him, and exactly how he would react in a given situation. So, even though he never uttered a single word about his plans or mentioned he might spend a day walking around town and taking in the sights, he was pretty sure his dad knew exactly where his head was at and was eternally grateful the man hadn't spoken a word for or against it.

The familiar lurch shook the public transport once again, and Dean gathered his jacket before following the line of people off of the bus and onto the main street. He had a two mile walk ahead of him, but he also had Sam waiting there at the end of it.

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One thing was for sure, Stanford was massive. Dean never had seen Sam as a big city kind of person; he always appeared more of a homebody. But this college was a friggen metropolis. The small map on the back of the brochure definitely needed some adjustment, in his mind. Damn scale drawings made everything look so close together.

It took him about forty minutes once he'd hit the campus to actually locate "the quad" as his brother put it. Didn't help that he didn't really know what a "quad" was, and once he found out, Dean was pretty sure the people that designed this one weren't clued in on the definition themselves. It was more of a semi-circle, in his opinion. Sloan wasn't hard to find though, and Dean took his place on the bench facing the doorway and waited.

The doors swung open with a thud no more than ten minutes later and mass amounts of students flooded through them. Dean jumped up from his seat, and stretched his neck to try and catch a glimpse of Sam, not that the skinny giant would be hard to miss anyway. The elder rested back on his heels, and lowered his head when he caught no sign of him, and for a minute entertained the idea that his brother maybe wasn't going to show up or simply forgot. A sharp smack to the back of the head broke that train of thought.

"What's up, jerk?" Dean turned around sharply, rubbing the back of his head where his little brother's hand had connected, and had every intention of giving Sam the "you're dead" look, but his mouth refused to cooperate and instead morphed into a huge grin.

"Nothing much, geek." Dean shot back, his smile matching Sam's.

"But a handsome geek, huh?" Sam teased, stepping back and stretching his arms out before doing a complete 360.

"God, take me now." Dean muttered, shaking his head and laughing openly.

"So, I got an hour to kill." Sam stated, looking at his watch, "You hungry? 'Cause there's this really good, and really cheap pizza place—got a bar and everything."

"Uh…yeah, pizza sounds good." Dean stated, gesturing for Sam to lead the way, "But uh…you think we could get some coffee?"

"Dude, you're an addict. You've probably already had four cups this morning." Sam teased, looking over his shoulder and slowing his pace when he saw Dean lagging behind a bit.

"Not an addict." Dean argued proudly, closing the gap between them and falling into stride with Sam, "I'll have you know I haven't had coffee in almost three weeks."

"You're kidding, right?" Sam shot his brother a look, and tilted his head questionably at the statement.

"Nope." Dean smirked cockily.

"You wouldn't do that." Sam pressed, his eyes squinting as he looked his brother over.

"Yeah, I would." Dean protested to Sam's back as he followed his brother into the noisy crowed restaurant. "Dude, I said coffee."

"You also said pizza. We'll get some after ok? God, man, you act like your jonesing for a fix." Sam scoffed, gesturing toward a vacant back table.

"Maybe I am. Dad drank a cup this morning, actually two, so I'm in the clear." Dean explained, taking his seat opposite Sam.

"Why does that matter?" Sam's tone was razor sharp and Dean flinched slightly at the swift change in his brother's demeanor.

"It doesn't." Dean refuted, his eyes darting around for an escape and never was he more grateful to see a waitress. Sam's piercing suspicious eyes never left Dean the entire time he ordered for them—one large with everything, a coke, and coffee.

"Really? 'Cause I don't remember you keeping track of Dad's intake at all and judging yours off it." Sam pressed, refusing to let the topic drop. Dean clenched his jaw in annoyance and disappointment. The last thing he wanted to be doing was arguing.

"Sam. Drop it." Dean ordered, his hazel eyes fierce.

"Whatever." Sam huffed, letting his attention drift towards the number of TVs aligning the far wall, all showing a different sport's game, barely even registering the dull thud of their drinks being delivered.

"So…" Dean began, taking a gulp of his favored brew and waiting to regain Sam's attention before continuing, "You got a girl yet?"

"No." Sam replied, rolling his eyes, "Is that all you think about?"

"Hey, you're the weird one here, little bro. Most guys don't think about math when they got beautiful girls just walking around all day on campus."

"Most guys don't get a full ride to Stanford." Sam shot back, eyes widening when the cheesy pie was placed in front of them.

"No, they get the girls." Dean replied smugly, leaning across the table to grab a slice, "You can't be a geek and expect to get a hot girl."

"Being a geek isn't that bad, Dean. Plus, if you are, the hot girls come to you."

"You told you that—Steve Urkel?"

"Figured it out on my own. If they know you're smart, they'll ask you for help and even some tutoring—one on one by the way." Sam revealed, an implying smirk on his face.

"They've corrupted you, Sammy." Dean laughed, his head falling back in the motion.

"No, I think it was growing up with you. And it's Sam."

"Whatever, Sam-my. And I have no idea what you are talking about. I was pretty damn near the perfect role model." Dean defended what he knew to be a complete and absolute lie.

"This from the man who at fifteen, left me in the hotel room so he could walk into a bar, and back out with the cheapest looking chic I'd ever seen."

"Hey, I had to bring her back to the hotel. I couldn't leave you alone. Dad would've kicked my ass."

"You locked me out of the room." Sam stated, clearly still irritated at the memory.

"Hey, you were eleven. Didn't need to be watching that." Dean replied in his best "fatherly" tone.

"Well, thanks for looking out for me." Sam shot back, mocking sincerity.

"I always do." Dean offered softly, choosing to watch the waitress fill his cup rather than look at Sam.

"You really gonna only drink two cups?" Sam posed, eyeing his brother curiously.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Sam, don't start, okay. I already told you to drop it." Dean exasperated, rubbing a hand over his face and working to stay calm.

"Dude, I know you. You depend on caffeine for your daily survival, man. There is no way you would just give that stuff up unless someone made you." Sam reasoned, giving Dean an all-knowing look.

"You don't know everything, Sammy." Dean replied slowly, his gaze studying the half-eaten piece of pizza growing colder by the second.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked pointedly, his tone conveying his confusion and bordering anger.

"It means you left and haven't seen me or dad in four months so how the hell would you know what's going on?"

Dean jerked his head to the side, biting down hard on his tongue, his face contorted in frustration. He hadn't meant for it to come out that way. Well, a part of him had. A part of him wanted Sam to know just how badly it hurt to wake up every morning and realize yet again, your brother had abandoned you and expected you to be happy about it.

That piece of him desired to fill Sam in on every moment of agony spent in shunned existence and then have that time of despair shrugged off with a simple "I know you" as if the days spent apart were completely inconsequential because there was no way someone as simple as Dean Winchester could possibly change, fear, or feel something, anything new that was worth uncovering.

Sam needed to know that he wasn't okay with the decision his little brother had made, and Dean mentally kicked himself for not remembering that he didn't come first in the twisted brotherhood. Sam did. Always had because Dad had made that clear from day 1. And the startled and hurt look that clouded Sam's features as his mouth turned down in a tight frown and his brow knit in thought, gripped Dean's emotions just like it had every single time it crossed his little brother's face in childhood. It truly amazed Dean how one single pained look from the person who was supposed to idolize him made him feel like the worse person to ever grace the face of the planet.

"Dammit!" Dean growled, slamming his fist into the table causing the stunned waitress to jump back sloshing the hot steamy liquid from the pot. Startled, she quickly turned to head back towards the kitchen and for what Dean assumed would be more coffee. "Leave it!"

"I thought--" Sam countered as the waitress set the pot down on the table next to Dean's cup.

"Well, you thought wrong!" Dean replied heatedly, pouring himself another cup and downing half of it. Anything was better than talking at this point.

"Look, Dean, I'm--"

"Save it, Sammy. I don't want an apology." Dean interrupted as soon as Sam's guilt-ridden tone met his ears, and if he'd been anyone else he probably would've just broke down at that moment. As much as he hated to admit it, he'd had a complete illusion of what this afternoon would be like and had allowed himself to buy into it completely. And now it was shattered, and beyond repair.

"Then what do you want, Dean? And before you say come back and start hunting again--don't. 'Cause that isn't me, Dean. It's not who I am and I'm not going to stay in some life I hate simply because Dad can't wrap his mind around the concept that i have dreams and ambitions of my own." Sam ranted, his cheeks burning red and his eyes ablaze with anger.

"I'm sorry we made you so miserable, Sam." Dean spat, "But just because you don't like where you're at doesn't mean you up and leave other people to take care of your mess."

"My mess?" Sam scoffed; shaking his head at what to him seemed positively ludicrous.

"Yeah, you think that it was easy dealing with Dad after you stormed out?" Dean questioned incredulously, leaning back into the chair, arms crossed, as he waited for a reply.

"Ah, c'mon, Dean, not like you couldn't handle it. And Dad wouldn't take it out on you anyway. He actually likes you." Sam snapped, hands shaking slightly as he worked to contain his growing rage.

"What the hell, Sam? Dad likes you." Dean refuted vehemently.

"No, Dad tolerates me." Sam countered, "There's a difference."

"You know what, this isn't about Dad. And we're not gonna have that discussion" Dean stated firmly, signaling the waitress for the check.

"Oh we're having this discussion, Dean. We are and you want to know why? Because as much as Dad hates to admit it and you refuse to believe--I can't be the good soldier you are. I never could be and I never will be."

"I never said you had to be Sam." Dean confessed quietly, "I just—Its just—Don't you have a class to get to or something?"

"Dammit!" Sam exclaimed, glancing up at the restaurant's football shaped clock, before throwing down a ten on the table and slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. "I got to go or Professor Lidman will have my ass. Look, Dean, you--"

"Go, Sam. I'm a big boy I can take care of myself." Dean replied sarcastically, but sadness enveloped the words.

"Okay, if you're sure." Sam nodded, lingering a bit longer at the table and shifting uncomfortably, "It was good to see you, Dean. Sorry if it didn't seem like it. But it was. And I'll call you, or you can call me, okay?"

"Sure, Sammy." Dean answered, lifting his head to look at his brother and give a small smile. It was enough to suffice, and Sam returned the expression before turning around and walking out of the restaurant.

Dean dropped his head in his hands defeated. He had been wrong to assume that Sam's leaving had nothing to do with him. His brother had walked out on hunting and his father, two things that defined his very existence. Dean had never felt so foolish and just alone. Sam had been his one friend and confident, at least when Dean actually confided in him and the one who experienced the same things, feared the same things, and shared a childhood like no other could ever understand with him.

The elder sibling rubbed his hands furiously over his face, enjoying the familiar tingling sensation flowing through his body as the only legal addictive stimulant in the world coursed through his veins. It felt good, he'd genuinely missed the stuff, but what he craved now was something stronger, something to ease and burn the pain away. Dad would understand. At least he hoped so.

Dean exhaled deeply, and brought his head back up. Methodically, he pulled out his wallet dropping down an identical ten along side Sam's. It was over the amount of lunch, but he figured the waitress deserved it for not kicking their sorry asses out.

Grabbing his jacket off the back of the seat, he eased it on, and exited the establishment. Right led back to campus; and left he figured would probably lead to a bar since that's where all the other restaurants and shops seemed to be. He desperately needed a bar, one thing he'd learned from Dad was that all things can be forgotten with a bottle—at least temporarily.

Turning on his heels, Dean started to head off in that direction feeling only slightly hypocritical for not allowing his Dad to find company in Jack and that he was about to became Jose's best bud. He ignored the twinge of guilt and continued on, only to be met with the familiar black of the Impala as he neared the end of the first block.

Dean guessed he probably looked like a kid who just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar when the door to the car popped open, and his father told him to get in. An order Dean complied to automatically.

"Where you going?" John questioned needlessly. He knew better than anyone what his son was searching for. He'd done the same only weeks before, only to get thwarted by his eldest before he could do anything stupid. Now it was his turn to return the favor.

"Yeah, 'cause you have no idea." Dean scoffed, leaning back in the seat and locking his gaze on the blur of people outside the car window.

"It won't help." John stated soothingly, "I know you want it to, but it won't."

"Thanks, Dad. Finally enrolled in those AA meetings, huh?"

"Because I know where you snuck off to today and what you were doing, I'm going to ignore that disrespectful tone of yours, let that one slide, and focus on the issue here." John reasoned, surprisingly quite calmly--almost too much so for Dean's liking.

"And that would be?" Dean pressed, his tone hostile. He'd fought all day, and thanks to the caffeine felt like he could go another round at least.

"Sammy's changed, Dean." John began cautiously. "He's a man now. He makes his own choices, whether we like them or not."

"Right. And you're just completely okay with that. I was there when he left Dad." Dean snapped tightly, the air in the car shifting to near suffocating proportions.

"I never said that. I don't agree at all with how he left. But he did leave Dean, and we have to accept that." John muttered, his words bearing a grief that Dean hadn't heard since the fire.

"He asked me to call him." Dean offered meekly, and John's eyes burned at the hope intertwined within the statement.

"That's good, Dean. You should."

"Yeah, maybe." Dean mumbled, grabbing a tape from his stash and putting it in the deck. His father didn't give one word of argument as the rock blared from the speakers and Dean sunk down into the seat, eyes shut, closing out the world.

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You know, in almost two years I've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing.—Dean (Pilot)

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Sorry for the wait! I hope this update was worth it. And lemme know what you think and if you have any other things you wanna see. Thanx for reading and reviewing!