A Brother's Sacrifice

by ayosb2000

Completely AU. John really did want Dean to have a home and for Sam to go to school. At Sonny's, Dean saw the possibility of another life, but chose family. Sam is chafing under his father's thumb. An exploration of what might have happened if Dean stood up to his father and decided that normal and hunting could co-exist. A large re-write of a previous story I wrote years ago.

12. April 2001

Thank you to everyone that is reading, and especially those that are reviewing. You don't know how it helps to have feedback from the people following my story! I love to acknowledge my reviewers personally via PM when I can, but for those guests (Kathy, Katy etc) please know that I am very thankful for yours too!

/

It's still pitch black outside as he sits on the edge of his bed and rubs his eyes, trying to get circulation flowing.

He yawns, clears his throat and then gets up to shuffle down the hall to the bathroom.

Flips on the light. Takes a quick peek in the mirror.

Declares himself a handsome devil.

Lifts the toilet seat up. Yawns. Takes care of business.

Jumps back in horror when a yellow waterfall cascades over the edges and spreads threateningly towards his bare feet.

What the fu…

Sees the plastic wrap stretched over the bowl.

"SAM!"

/

He's sweaty after the morning run.

Climbs the stairs to his room and strips to his boxes. Grabs clean clothes out of the closet and tosses them on his bed.

Heads next door and leans over to turn on the hot water nozzle in the tub.

Lets the water run. Grabs his shaving kit from the counter next to the sink.

Leans back over, checks the temp and then adds the cold water to the mix until it's comfy.

Shucks his boxers and steps into the tub. Flips the controller for the shower head.

Jumps back three feet and slams against the wall tiles when a dark red spray erupts from the head and spills all over his skin.

Swears colorfully, eyes wide, suddenly wanting his gun because something evil is lurking in the house.

Stops and recognizes the scent of Tropical Punch Kool-Aid, not blood.

Feels the grainy fruity sugar coating his sweaty chest.

"DEAN!"

/

He smiles when he hears the scream from the shower upstairs.

Gives himself an atta boy punch to his shoulder.

Grabs yesterday's box of doughnuts.

Pours a cup of coffee, snags the last jelly, even though it's his brother's favorite.

Snooze you lose, kiddo.

Takes a big slurp of French roast, then shoves half the doughnut in his mouth.

Immediately gags on the salty, syrupy taste of ketchup as he spits the whole thing into the trash.

"DON'T mess with a man's pastry, Sam!"

/

He's finally got all the red food dye off his skin.

Glares at his brother when he walks into the kitchen.

Smirks seeing the remnants of the ketchup doughnut in the trash.

Returns the one fingered salute leveled in his direction as he grabs the pitcher of OJ from the fridge.

Pulls a glass down from the shelf and pours. Still smirking as he takes a swig.

Immediately spits it across the room. A watery, salty funk coating his mouth.

Looks over to his grinning brother maliciously waving an empty Kraft box in front of his eyes.

"Cheese powder? Seriously? Jerk."

/

He goes back upstairs. Brushes his teeth. Checks the mirror again.

Still a handsome devil.

Grabs his deodorant.

Applies liberally. Because the ladies love a man that smells good.

Grimaces when the usually powdery gloss leaves a gloppy, slimy trail under his arm pit.

Looks at the applicator with revulsion as the sloppy smear clumps all over the top.

Storms back downstairs. Throws his Speedstick across the table until it slams against his brother's cereal bowl.

"Cream cheese? That's just wrong, dude."

Brother shrugs, smirks and goes back to his granola.

/

They head out to the driveway to start the day.

He looks forlornly at the sixty-seven Chevy. Laments the lack of opportunities to mess with her.

A smart kid, he knows better.

Brother would murder him in a thousand painful ways if he even thought about touching the car today.

Goes to his own vehicular beauty.

Smiles lovingly at her sleek lines.

Says goodbye to his brother and opens the driver's side door.

Screams like a three year old girl with a skinned knee.

Loses his balance and lands hard on his ass on the ground. The monster in the seat smiles menacingly at him.

Breathes deeply. Tries desperately to slow his racing heart. Crab walks further away from his car.

Brother sighs.

Realizes he has gone too far.

Brother grabs the cheap clown doll out of the driver's seat of the Camaro. Flings it over the fence into the neighbor's yard.

Reaches down and offers a helping hand.

Still shaking, little brother takes it and is hauled to his feet as big brother pats him affectionately on the back.

"Truce?"

"Truce."

April Fool's Day Prank Wars comes to an early end.

/

It had been bad enough when Dean was forced to confess to his little eight year old brother what Dad's real job was.

He was kind of put on the spot.

Sammy had stolen Dad's journal. Even knowing fully well the storm that would be unleashed upon him when their father got back. Like a dog or, in the case, an adorable puppy with a bone, he wasn't going to let it go.

Finally Dean felt compelled to spill, because the kid was all pleading doe eyes and begging for the truth.

And Dean had never been able to deny his brother anything if he could give it to him.

So he told the boy about the reality of monsters, and why they moved around so much. What John was up against on a regular basis, and why he couldn't be with them as much as they wanted him to be.

It was a day that Dean had been dreading for years.

Desperately hoping that Sammy would get to be an innocent kid, for just a little while longer.

Knowing the truth about the evils lurking in the world hadn't ever made Dean sleep any better at night.

They were parked in another shit hole motel room in Broken Bow, Nebraska. Christmas would dawn in a few hours. There was no tree, no presents and no Dad. It was bad enough already.

Telling Sammy the truth about the supernatural world had been hard.

Realizing, too late, that he had also destroyed the kid's belief in Santa had been worse.

In true Sammy fashion, the questions had been coming too fast, the answers too hard to give easily. Dean was sputtering and struggling to make his terrified little brother understand that they weren't in any danger, and that Dad would be okay because, well, Dad was the best.

Then Sammy had asked if Santa was real, and Dean had said No before he even remembered that Sammy was still just a little eight year old boy that needed something nice to believe in, and Dean had just single-handedly made him believe in fear and evil and disbelieve in goodness and happiness.

It wasn't a mistake he was going to make a second time.

When Easter came around a few months later, Dean had been planning ahead of time to give his little brother some childhood faith again.

He had been squirreling away a few dollars here and there, not entirely convinced that Dad could be counted on to deliver some holiday treats this time. When he did finally talk to Dad about preserving the Easter Bunny for Sammy, John, still guilty about missing Christmas, had been more than willing.

When Sammy woke up Easter Sunday, the motel room was colorfully decorated with eggs and large Easter baskets overflowing with treats. Two of them, against Dean's protests of wasting money, because Dad insisted that big boys get candy too. Sammy easily bought the idea that the Easter Bunny had stopped by because he knew Dean didn't have the money for all this stuff, and Sam's faith in John was already tarnished beyond fixing.

Plastic eggs were filled with goodies and hidden around the room, waiting for Sammy to find them, and a stuffed rabbit was tucked in bed next to him. Sammy had loved the rabbit. He named it Martin, because he was a weird little kid, and it would continue to travel with them in the car for almost a year until it accidentally got left behind after a ghoul hunt in Missouri.

This time, when Sammy, wide eyed and beaming, asked Dean if the Easter Bunny was real, his big brother had looked him straight in the eye and said Yes.

The tradition went on for a few more years. John inevitably became increasingly forgetful of holidays, but Dean would start saving right after Christmas, which was never a big deal anymore since Sam was uninterested in celebrating it.

Picking up a little at a time, the older brother had become more clever about hiding stuff away until he could surprise Sammy with it on Easter Sunday, thrilled when the innocent happiness of a kid shined in his little brother's eyes for a few minutes.

When Sam was eleven, just a few months shy of his twelfth birthday, they were in a drug store buying some more over the counter pain relief. Sam was unnaturally quiet, and it took a moment for Dean to realize that his little brother was examining the explosion of Easter merchandise on sale. He knew immediately, from the look of introspection and resignation on Sam's face, that the jig was up.

"I know the Easter Bunny isn't real, Dean."

And Dean had shaken his head, beyond sad that this last vestige of childhood and wonderment was gone from his little brother's life. Realistically, he had known for some time that Sammy knew already, but it was amazing what you could make yourself believe when you were desperate enough to hope for some happiness and innocent wonderment.

Both brothers has stubbornly clung to that little fantasy for as long as they could. Sammy would say that he stopped believing at eleven. Dean would have argued that he was twelve, because seriously, it was pretty close. Eventually, they agreed on eleven and a half.

Sam's newly admitted knowledge didn't change Dean's desire to give his little brother some holiday fun. There wasn't much he could do for the kid as it was, with Halloween and Christmas almost completely off the table, and Thanksgiving a booze soaked event with Dad home and grieving. But he could still do Easter, so he did.

As Sam got older, the treats changed.

Toys and stuffed animals became books and school supplies. There was still some candy, but the plastic eggs went from being filled solely with chocolate and jelly beans to also containing some spending money. At first it was dimes and quarters. Then it progressed to ones and fives. Now, as Dean pulled the plastic package of colorful egg shells out of the bag, he had a small stack of tens and twenties to fill them with.

Sammy was out at the movies with Alex.

He didn't have to be home for curfew until midnight, and there was no way he would be back even one second sooner, so Dean was confident that he could play Easter Bunny without getting caught. Not that Sam wouldn't know what he was doing. It was the one time during the year that sifting through his little brother's things was allowed so that eggs could be hidden.

Dean was methodical enough to color coordinate the contents. Pink eggs contained chocolate. Yellow ones had jelly beans. Minus the black ones that Dean picked out and ate while he filled, because Sammy was still a weird kid that didn't like the awesomeness that was licorice. Blue eggs had ten dollar bills, and green ones had twenties.

See what I did there, Sammy? Green? Big bills? Huh? Huh?

He smiled to himself and ate another handful of jelly beans.

There was a basket too, filled with the bigger candy, some paperback books, and gift certificates for places where Sam liked to shop and take his girlfriend. That would wait until he could sneak it into Sam's room while the kid slept. For now, he grabbed the shopping bag he had put the filled eggs back into and headed upstairs.

It was nice doing simple things like this, and Dean had always been willing to do anything to make his little brother smile.

He genuinely enjoyed darting around Sammy's room and coming up with creative hiding spaces. An egg in the toe of a running shoe. In the pocket of a pair of school khakis hanging in the closet. Some hidden among the books on his shelves. Another one hidden here, another one there. A few strictly containing money in Sammy's go-bag, because there was no telling when he would use it next. No one wanted stale candy hanging around, and emergency cash was always a good thing.

With most of the eggs cleverly distributed around the room, he turned his attention to the dresser for the remaining few. He also grabbed the other non-Easter related item out of the bag and smirked. Opening the top drawer of the dresser, where Sam kept his boxers and socks, Dean wedged the new box of condoms right into the middle, not even trying to be subtle.

Sammy was a prude.

There were just no two ways about it. Dean would deny it to his dying breath, but he was actually pleased about that fact. His little brother didn't have the cavalier attitude about women and sex that Dean had, and that was perfectly okay. For all of Dean's talk about wanting his brother to lighten up and have some fun, he understood that Sam would only allow himself to be intimate with someone he really cared about.

It was sweet, and innocent, and anything that Dean could do to promote those feelings in the kid, he would. Because most of Sammy's innocence had been lost when he was eight years old, and there wasn't much Dean could spare him from, so he was pleased that a little of it had remained.

Not that Sammy didn't have a full working knowledge of the facts of life from an unfortunately early age.

You don't grow up the way they did, in some of the places that they did, and not understand the nature of the primal noises you heard in the motel units around you. The first time one of their neighbors had become incredibly vocal, Sammy had wanted the brothers to rush in next door and save the poor screaming woman, because that's what they did, right?

And Dean had to sit him down and haltingly explain why she wouldn't have wanted them to.

Dad had tried to give Sammy the talk when he was ten, because their lifestyle matured the boys significantly faster than regular kids, and John always made sure that his sons were prepared for anything.

It was the most uncomfortable Dean had ever seen their father.

By then, his little brother was already so book smart that it was hard to keep up with him, and when John attempted to explain about the birds and the bees to his young son, Sammy had very clinically outlined his understanding of the reproductive process to Dad in such detail that the older hunter was stammering until he finally ended the conversation with

"Just keep it covered up. Every time."

And then Dad left, scratching his head and muttering about too-smart-for-their-own-good kids.

Sammy and Alex had been officially a couple for a while now, since her first study group session, and Dean could tell that his little brother was smitten. Whereas Sam's relationship with that girl Kristin had been more lustful infatuation than anything else, because sometimes a really hot chick could do that to you, Sammy was like a love struck puppy these days.

Alex was perfect, according to little brother. She was the smartest. And the funniest. And the sweetest. She was incredibly clever, and talented and she practically walked on water.

It was ridiculously adorable listening to the way Sammy waxed poetic about all her many attributes.

Dean liked her too. Much better than he had the blonde cheerleader. The cute little brunette had a gentle sweetness about her that was genuine. She clearly worshiped Sam as much as he adored her, but she was still independent enough to not take any of his crap either, and Dean respected that.

Sometimes Sammy could get a little snippy and bossy, and if anyone knew that, it was Dean.

Not that Sam would ever have treated Alex badly. Both Dad and Dean would have kicked his ass if he did, and he knew it. Winchester men always treated a lady with respect, especially the youngest one. Actually, it was Sam's over eagerness to be chivalrous that sometimes had him behaving a little more protectively than he needed to, and it brought out more of a possessive attitude in him.

Alex didn't let him get away with that kind of nonsense, and she would metaphorically smack him on the nose with a rolled up newspaper if he started acting too much like a little bitchy caveman. While Sam would crab and fight with Dean if Dean said something about his attitude, when it came from Alex, Sammy just tucked his tail and apologized.

Of course, Sam also had the dewy eyed, sensitive thing going on too, and it made Alex swoon just as much as every other girl.

Dean knew, without needing to be told, that his little brother had very little experience with girls.

They never stayed in one place long enough for Sam to get as attached as he personally needed to be with a girl to do more than some heavy kissing. He was also not the kind of guy that would talk about his sex life, even with his older brother, but Dean knew him well enough that the younger boy would not have been able to hide whether or not he had gone all the way with a girl.

It was becoming clearer that Sam was getting heavily involved right now, and Dean suspected that it might only be a matter of time. While it was true that Sam might approach him for some brotherly advice, as he had done in the past, Dean wasn't going to take any chances. He was supportive of the idea, if Sam felt ready, and he would help make it as easy and safe as possible.

Someday, Dean would make the world's most awesome uncle, but it wasn't going to be any time soon if he had anything to say about it.

Smiling again, he closed the top drawer, wondering how many shades of red Sammy would blush upon finding the little box when he got dressed tomorrow.

Well, kiddo. If you can't talk about it, you shouldn't be doing it, right?

With the most critical mission accomplished, he continued down to the other drawers to finish hiding the plastic egg treasures. Just as he was almost done in the bottom drawer, he shoved aside a pair of old sweats to hide the one egg he had put a fifty in, only to freeze when the space under the pants revealed more than just the bottom wood of the drawer.

University of Sioux Falls

1101 W. 22nd

Sioux Falls, SD 57105

Dear Mr. Winchester,

We are pleased to offer you admission for the Fall Semester of 2001…..

/

Minnesota State University

122 Taylor Center

Mankato, MN 56001

Dear Mr. Winchester,

It is our pleasure to offer you a place at our university for the 2001 Fall Term…..

/

Office of Undergraduate Admission
Stanford University
355 Galvez Street
Stanford, CA 94305-6106

Dear Mr. Winchester,

I am pleased to inform you that your application for admission for Fall 2001 has been favorably reviewed by our Admission Committee…..

/

Crouching on the back of his heels, Dean felt the wind knocked directly out of him. As if taking a punch to the gut, a large whoosh of air pushed out of his lungs and knocked him down hard on his ass on the wood floor.

He held the creased sheets of paper in his trembling hands and scanned them again, mentally struggling to make sense of the words. Blood rushed to his ears as his heart rate picked up, leaving an increasing buzzing sensation that was positively disorienting, and suddenly it was nearly impossible to comprehend written English.

Dean wasn't sure what was more painful.

Realizing that his little brother was indeed making firm plans to leave the family for the safe and normal apple pie life he had been harping on about for years?

Or the excruciating knowledge that Sam had done all of this behind Dean's back?

As his chest ached painfully, hurt blossoming through every vein, the older brother had to acknowledge that it was much more the latter, rather than the former.

It wasn't that Sam wanting to go off to college was necessarily breaking news.

Dean wasn't an idiot.

He had known practically since Sammy had learned to read that his little brother would be more than happy to spend the rest of his life buried in a library. Studying weird crap like Nineteenth Century French Poetry and the History of Ancient Aztecan Basket Weaving, or some other similarly useless shit that a Winchester didn't need. Reading a million books a week as long as they had nothing to do with a hunt.

Sam had certainly babbled on and on about the various institutions of higher learning as they traveled around the country. Sometimes even going so far as to beg his big brother to detour fucking miles out of the way just to see them.

It was simply one of those things that Dean hadn't given much credence to. He had always accepted that the brothers had to go to high school because, otherwise, it could cause a lot of legal trouble for Dad. But it had always been known that after high school, there would be no more need for higher ed.

They had a job to do. Period.

College was just an abstract and unnecessary concept that existed outside the Winchester Family universe.

Now, after seeing the letter from Stanford, it didn't take Sammy's genius IQ to figure out where the kid had taken off to in February. Motel just outside of San Francisco, huh?

Yeah, sure.

Even Dean the Grunt knew where Stanford was located. But then again, Sam had made a lifetime of underestimating his big brother, and Dean had never felt the need to correct the kid.

Sometimes he wondered if his little brother really knew him at all.

Sammy was in for a shock if he thought that Dean never had any higher ambitions for himself than a GED.

Would it have surprised the kid to know that Dean and Sonny had talked on more than one occasion about what could happen after high school if Dean stayed in Hurleyville?

Yeah. Probably.

At the time, Dean hadn't been entirely sure that his father would forgive him enough to welcome him back into the family fold, and there had been scary nights when the young boy was floundering and drifting aimlessly. Wondering if maybe his life would be forced to take a different path if he was no longer allowed to be a hunter at John's side.

But it wasn't either of things that hurt the most.

Since when did Sammy feel like he couldn't talk about something with his big brother?

At what point in their relationship had Dean become unapproachable as Sam's most supportive confidante? He had always devoted his life to being there for his little brother in every way possible, and yet the kid couldn't bring himself to share this kind of monumental decision?

To be fair, Dean had to admit that he wouldn't have encouraged it. Dad would flip right the fuck out if he knew that Sam had even thought about applying to colleges. Let alone actually applied and was sitting on three acceptances.

Not that Sammy wouldn't have been accepted anywhere he wanted to go. The kid was a freakin' Einstein and any school would be lucky to have him, and if they didn't realize that, then maybe Dean would need to make a trip to one of those fancy ivory towers and convince them.

In the nicest possible way, of course.

Well...maybe the nicest possible way.

No, actually. Probably not.

Anyway...

The unfortunate truth was that their family were hunters, first and foremost. Sam had a responsibility to their family, their mother especially, and to unsuspecting innocent civilians at large. He had an obligation to take everything their father had taught them their entire lives and use it for the greater good.

Anyone could go to college and drink and fuck around for four years. Only a dedicated few got to truly save the world.

Little brother was just going to need to get that through his head.

Dean scooted backwards across the floor until his back was pressed against the foot board of Sam's bed. Crossing his legs and forcing himself to re-read the letters, just to make sure. All of his hoping and planning for the future was suddenly vanishing like a puff of misguided and ill advised smoke with every word staring back at him from the heavy weight sheets of stationary clutched in his unsteady hands.

How many times had he thought about how much he was looking forward to getting back out to the hunt with his little brother riding shotgun as his trusty geek boy sidekick?

How many nights had he spent pacing the floors of the little rental house, stressed and on edge because their father was out somewhere on his own? No one watching his back, or there to help tend injuries, because his kids were far away doing regular boring shit in South Dakota.

No one to make sure John remembered to eat, because Sam came by his single minded obsessive behavior honestly, or to make him put down the whiskey bottle long enough to climb into an actual bed and get real sleep, instead of just passing out listlessly in a chair.

And what was Sammy even thinking?

The kid didn't really expect their father to just be okay with this, did he? Even if Dad didn't need them hunting by his side, there was absolutely no way that he would allow his youngest to just trot off to college like a civilian. Living in some random vanilla dorm with a bunch of reality-ignornant snot nosed co-eds.

Alone. Unprotected. Vulnerable.

Not fucking happening, kiddo.

Dean knew how hard it had been for their father to let his boys stay in one place so long already. He could see it in Dad's face, every time they were together. That ever present pinch and tension in his forehead as his eyes skipped nervously around the perimeter of the house, as if he was expecting an invasion at any moment.

How Dad was sneaking into town more and more often than he even let his kids know, just to scope things out.

Dean had caught sight of his father's truck, and his father himself in an assortment of boosted cars, on more than one occasion over the past few months. They didn't speak about it together, but Dean wasn't an idiot. He knew that Dad saw Dean seeing Dad.

It was a dance.

It was a stakeout.

Hunting each other.

Dad was watching for something. Scared of something.

Inwardly, Dean had hoped that his father was proud of him for skillfully utilizing the training he had been given. It took real finesse to find John Winchester if he was trying to blend in, and it was only because Dean knew his father better than anyone else in the world that he had been able to do it.

Realistically, Dean knew that they couldn't keep asking their father to take on all of the hunts he managed alone, as well as force him to continue to circle around where his kids were living. Like an overprotective hawk, sharp eyed, scared and worried for his sons' safety when they were too far from him for too long.

While Dean had given plenty of thought to keeping their house for as long as he could reasonably manage it, it was meant to be a place of relaxation and respite for all three of them. Together. Somewhere they could go in between hunts to recharge their batteries, and maybe feel like a regular family for a few days a month.

Because it was more than time for them to be back out into the world. Doing what the Winchesters did best.

Hunting things. Saving people. The Family Business.

The sooner that Sammy realized this, the better. The kid could spend the next ten years at Wussy State and still never learn as much as he already knew from studying at their father's side, making sure that no one ever needed to suffer the same kind of pain and loss as their family had.

He took a deep breath, rubbing a hand down his face, and ruthlessly shoved back crushing thoughts of betrayal and abandonment to the back of his mind. If he let himself think about what it would be like to not have his little brother in his life every single day, the pain might just completely and utterly overwhelm him.

If that happened, he wouldn't be able to summon the energy needed to get up off of this floor and carefully replace the offending letters under the sweats.

Sam would know, as soon as he saw the plastic eggs in the drawer, that the jig was up. So Dean took the egg with the fifty and left it lying directly on top of the letters at the bottom of the drawer, underneath the old sweats, so there would be no question.

It was up to Sam now, as to when and how he would bring it up with his big brother.

/

At seven minutes after midnight, Dean heard the purr of the Camaro's engine pull up in the driveway. A minute later, Sam came strolling through the front door, looking carefree and happy.

The way that Dean liked to see him.

Too often Sam was sedate and serious, unable to take anything easily, and always, always, always overthinking every little aspect of his life. It could be endearing sometimes, his little brother's earnestness, but it also just made Dean sad on occasion that the kid had such trouble lightening up.

When Sam was truly happy, nothing warmed his big brother's heart more than to see him smile and laugh.

The younger boy grinned a huge dimpled greeting and dropped down on the couch next to where Dean was watching a late movie on AMC. Mind concentrated elsewhere, he wasn't even paying attention to the plot of the black and white picture playing on the screen. Dean glanced at his watch, frowned and turned to glare at his brother.

"You're late."

The tone of his voice was definitely harsher than he was actually intending it to be, and the cheery smile that had been on Sam's face just scant seconds ago vanished, leaving behind a nervous frown and worried and apologetic eyes.

"I'm sorry," Sam mumbled, eyes dropping to his lap. "I didn't realize..."

Dean took in a deep breath and mentally chastised himself for his tone. For being the asshole that wiped the happy grin from the kid's face so immediately.

It was only his lingering hurt from his earlier findings that was coloring his temper. Honestly, he hadn't even realized the time before his brother came into the house. Sammy could be a few minutes late. It wasn't the end of the world and Dean had never snapped at him for it before.

He took another deep breath, pushed back his own hurt, checked his temper, and nudged Sam's knee to get his attention.

Sammy had the kind of face that could look every year of his age, and then some, but it could also revert to that of a five year old little boy when he was scolded, like it did right now. Dean swore under his breath, because he didn't like to see his little brother so upset over something so ridiculously trivial.

"It's okay, Sammy. Just wondering if anything bad happened to make you late, is all."

It was a lame excuse, but fortunately it seemed to work since Sam peeked up through his long bangs and gave him a small smile.

"Alex is a good kisser," he said shyly as he blushed.

That's my boy..

Dean smirked and raised an eyebrow knowingly.

"Oh yeah, I bet," he teased, getting his brother laughing. "So what emo, angst filled chick flick did she drag you to this time?"

"Bridget Jones' Diary," Sam muttered, eyes squinting in revulsion. Dean didn't even miss a beat.

"Dude, for that level of torture, she better've let you get to at least second base."

Sam blushed even more and he squirmed uncomfortably.

"Don't be disgusting. She's not like that," Sam protested, just as his stomach growled loudly.

Immediately the younger boy scowled at his brother's put upon sigh, as Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head. It was nearly impossible to keep Sam fed these days.

"Seriously, if you don't stop growing, I'm never standing next to you again," he threatened. "C'mon."

Dean stood up and beckoned his little brother to follow him as he strode into the kitchen. Like an overly large floppy puppy, Sam loped behind and then dropped down into his usual chair at the table.

"Didn't you get anything to snack on at the movie?" Dean asked, dragging a frying pan out from under the counter, putting it on the stove before buttering four slices of bread.

"Yeah, but the popcorn was stale and gross, and I let Alex have all the candy."

Grabbing the deli package of sliced cheese from the fridge, Dean generously layered the grilling bread and pulled out a gallon of milk and two glasses. Then he reached in for the container of cut up fruit that Sam liked to keep available, scooped out a bowl and put it in front of his brother with a fork.

By the time the grilled cheeses were toasted and melting, Sam had already demolished the fruit and was on his second glass of milk. It only took an additional two minutes for the boy to devour the gooey sandwich and chug the rest of the milk before he sat back in his chair and sighed happily.

"Better?" Dean was smirking and his green eyes were dancing with affectionate indulgence.

"Oh, God. Yes. I was starving, and you make killer grilled cheese," Sam murmured contentedly, rubbing his belly.

"Yeah, I know. I'm awesome."

With little brother fed and happy, Dean stood back up and gathered the plates, tossing them in the sink.

"Okay, kiddo. It's late. Time for little Sammys to be in bed."

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head, but he made no move to stand up.

"Wait. Can I talk to you a minute?"

Dean stood at the sink with his back turned and immediately stiffened. Sam frowned, wondering why his brother was suddenly on edge, but a few seconds later the older boy turned back around and leaned against the counter, arms crossed casually over his chest.

"Shoot."

Sam shifted nervously in his chair for a moment and cleared his throat, knowing that he was most likely about to get shot down. But Alex had been pressing him all night, so he needed to at least try.

"The theater is having a Rocky Horror night in two weeks," he started haltingly, sporting his best puppy eyes, "and all the kids in the drama club are getting dressed up and going."

Dean raised a questioning eyebrow and slowly nodded, encouraging his little brother to continue.

"Yeah...and?"

"And...I wanna go."

"So, go," Dean said confused, as he shrugged. "As long as Dad doesn't need us that weekend, why would I stop you?"

"My curfew is midnight on the weekends," Sam explained, unnecessarily, because Dean knew what it was.

Dean nodded, giving him a look to prompt him to continue, wondering exactly what he was missing here.

"It doesn't start until midnight," Sam clarified, quickly hiding back behind his ridiculous hair, but peeking up hopefully.

It was on the tip of Dean's tongue to immediately refuse. Because that's what Dad would expect him to do. The rules were clear, and had been since August. Sam should know better than to even ask in the first place. Their father's word was law in the house, even though the man himself was seldom around, and Dean had been very clear all year about his intention to uphold the rules.

But then Dean thought about the letters he had found earlier.

The ones practically screaming that Sam was looking to escape the harsh confines of John's strict authority. The ones that were giving Sam a path that strayed dangerously away from the protection and safety of his family.

In deep contemplation for a moment, Dean gave his little brother a good hard look.

While in Dean's mind Sam would always be this small, adorably clingy boy that needed to be guarded and kept on the straight and narrow, he was clearly growing up.

Not just physically, because it didn't matter to Dean if the kid grew to be eight feet tall. His big brother would always stand guard in front of him and protect him with everything Dean had to give. But Sam was also maturing in so many other ways.

As much as it hurt to give up even an inch of the invisible security blanket Dean had wrapped Sam in since his birth, he knew his little brother was craving a little more freedom at his age. No matter how badly the core part of Dean's very existence wanted to shield Sam and keep him from any hurt or harm, he knew the kid had to be suffocating a little right now.

When Dean had been Sam's age, their father had given his oldest son so much more freedom and independence. Sure, he had the enormous responsibility of a little brother to look after and keep safe, but Dean was still able to go out and about more or less at will.

And let's be perfectly honest...

Most of the time Dean hadn't been doing things nearly as innocent and wholesome as a late movie with a bunch of kids that were just as geeky as his little brother.

Maybe if Sam's leash was loosened a little, he wouldn't be struggling so hard to get away.

Maybe if he could see that things could be different now that he was getting older, and could be given more freedom to enjoy life, he wouldn't feel the need to run all the way to California to escape the stifling clutches of his well meaning and protective family just to be able breathe.

"Okay."

Sam's eyes shot open wide, as if he couldn't believe what his brother just said.

"Okay?" he asked, confused and blinking fast.

"Yep," Dean said, nodding. "If Dad doesn't call for us, you can go. Just check in with me and be careful."

Sam gave him a huge smile with all the dimples, like the affectionate little nerd he was.

"Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered, waving him away. "Now hit the rack, Cinderfella. Your gigantic body needs sleep."

Sam got up from the table and gave his big brother one more small smile.

"Night, jerk."

Dean's heart squeezed painfully from the long term endearment, and he forced a smile of his own.

"Night, bitch."

/

Sam loved Sundays.

It was the one day a week that he was allowed to sleep in.

All of the running and training was still expected to be done, but it could wait until later in the day. There was also an additional hour of target practice with his Taurus, but Sam really didn't mind that one, because he actually liked to shoot for recreation purposes.

He wasn't quite sure how his brother had managed to get their father to agree to a late training day at all, because it didn't matter to John Winchester what day of the week it was. He was up and running every single day at dawn.

Rain or shine or snow.

Stone cold sober, hungover or sometimes still drunk. It didn't matter.

So, on Sundays, the Winchester brothers would lounge in bed a little while longer, as long as they weren't on a job. At home in Sioux Falls, with no school and no work requiring their presence, they would relax and catch up on missed sleep.

Sam would usually wake up to the smell of pancakes and bacon, because when they had the time his brother would always make Sam's favorite breakfast foods that he didn't allow himself to indulge in during the week.

Dad still made the best pancakes, but Dean was getting better every week, and it wasn't unusual for the brothers to go through an entire pound of bacon between the two of them.

Of course, Dean was mostly responsible for that, but who was keeping track?

They would bring their plates to the living room, along with steaming mugs of coffee, and watch movies on VHS from a collection that had been growing all year. Dean had made Sam watch the original Godzilla a million times already, but that was okay because Sam was getting in his shots with Time Bandits. They were pretty evenly matched at this point.

It was close to noon before Sam hazily smelled the telltale aroma of frying meat wafting up the stairs.

The sun was streaming in his window and warming his face. He smiled with his eyes still shut, stretching lazily under the blanket, and looking forward to a pile of fluffy cakes drowning in syrup as his stomach loudly announced its desire to be fed.

He rubbed his eyes and blinked them open, immediately catching sight of a bright yellow weaved basket perched on his dresser. Stuffed with an enormous chocolate rabbit, movie theater sized boxes of candy, books and tiny envelopes. Next to it was a three feet tall Bugs Bunny, and Sam laughed as he belatedly remembered what day it was. His heart was bursting with affection for his dorky big brother who insisted on Sam celebrating Easter like he was still a little kid.

Another lazy stretch, Sam smiling a mile wide, as he scanned the room more closely for the inevitable colorful traces of plastic eggs that he had obviously missed last night. Idly wondering how much he was going to be able to add to his cash stash.

It was going to make taking Alex out significantly easier with a little extra in his pocket. Silly, stupid, wonderfully awesome big brother.

So blissed out, it took him a moment too long to give thought to the bottom drawer of his dresser, knowing how thorough Dean was about hiding the eggs.

Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit

In a flash he was out of the bed and on his knees in front the dresser, frantically opening the bottom drawer and rifling through his sweats. Sure enough, under his black sweats with the hole in the right knee, was a green egg.

Sitting directly on top of his acceptance letters.

There was absolutely no way Dean had not seen them.

Sam shut his eyes tightly, cursing himself in English and Latin, and willing his speeding heart rate to slow down before he passed out, right there on his bedroom floor.

In his mind, he had practiced the speech he would give his brother and his father a million times. A million different ways.

In one version, he tried to be as clear and logical as possible.

Extolling all the benefits of having him go to school and forge a legitimate career where he could be a real asset to the family, instead of merely the third best hunter on a three man team.

In another version, he had already convinced Dean to use his significant and unique talents of persuasion to argue his side against their father.

With his brother backing him up, it was increasingly more likely that Dad would consider the compromises that Sam had already devised and made his peace with. It had been Dean's idea, after all, to take this house, and Sam was hopefully optimistic that his brother could be made to see reason in keeping it.

In a third version, Sam flat out begged his dad to let him continue to go to school.

John could still be a warm and caring father. Sam had seen it on many occasions, especially this past year when the two of them had been able to stow their mutual crap long enough to actually communicate with one another. Surely his father could be made to understand how important college was to his youngest son?

Surely even John fucking Winchester would be proud of his boy for having his future handed to him on a plate for all of his years of hard work?

In a genuinely scary version, Sam simply stated that he was going and damned the consequences.

This was a version that he never wanted to see come to pass. His family meant everything to him, and he desperately wanted to believe that they would want his happiness, just as much as he wanted it for them.

Of course, the more successful of these had hinged on Dean finding out first, directly from Sam, because Dean deserved the respect of being told to his face. And Sam wanted his brother's support.

More than anything.

He truly wanted Dean to understand how much this meant to him. Wanted him to be happy for him and celebrate with him.

To take pleasure in Sam's successes, because they were Dean's successes too.

Without his big brother watching out for him, and making sure that Sam always had everything he needed to navigate through his many many schools, Sam wouldn't have been able to keep it all together as well as he had, and none of these chances would be coming his way.

Without Dean always having his back, Sam could have just been another mediocre student drifting his way through life, like a ship without a rudder to guide him. Sam had done the schoolwork, but Dean had done the sacrificing to make his little brother's years of intense study possible in their impossible situation.

But now Sam had waited too long.

He'd been too nervous and too afraid of Dean responding with less than the full hearted support and enthusiasm that Sam needed to feel okay about what he was planning on doing. His big brother's approval and backing was critical to Sam, because he'd always had it. Without it, the boy wasn't sure that he would have the fortitude needed to strike out on his own.

Dean's unfailing support always been a safety mechanism in life. Even as they fought and bickered and sparred like all brothers, their relationship encompassed so many other nontraditional fraternal roles.

It was Dean's strong arms that were there to fall back into when Sam fell. To catch him when he stumbled, and he had stumbled on several occasions. To tease him, and make sure that Sam didn't take everything quite so personally and seriously, but then to also give him the necessary confidence to go forward knowing that there was always someone in his corner.

Even when Sam couldn't count on anyone, he could always count on Dean.

Deep in his heart, Sam knew that if Dean told him to drop the idea entirely, he wasn't so sure that he would be able to refuse.

It had been that fear that kept him silent. That fear that had stopped him from immediately running into the house to show the letters off. The way Sam had done on dozens of occasions throughout their childhoods. Bringing home crudely made drawings and gold stars and perfect tests.

Hungry for his brother's praise and encouragement.

That's what he had wanted when he finally showed the acceptances to Dean. Giddy and hopeful for a better future, and wanting nothing more than to hear his brother tell Sam how proud he was.

But it was too late for that now.

Now that the cat was out of the bag, Sam was petrified that it was going to be so much worse that Dean had to find out on his own. How hurt and betrayed the older brother had to be, by Sam's lack of confidence in him.

How could he ask Dean to back his play, when he hadn't even given his brother the courtesy of talking to him about it in the first place? Hiding his letters in a drawer like a coward.

Surreptitious and shameful.

With shaky hands, Sam withdrew the letters and slowly made his way down to the kitchen.

There was no getting around this anymore.

No more delays.

This conversation was happening whether or not Sam was ready for it, and he was pretty sure that he wasn't. Was pretty sure that he would never really be truly ready for it, but it was here now and the only way out of it was through.

Like a man on his way to the gallows, he walked hesitantly into the kitchen. Dean was standing at the stove, back to Sam's entrance. Flipping another batch of pancakes onto a plate that was already half full. He didn't seem annoyed or upset, as Sam would have expected him to be.

But then of course, Dean had already seen the letters before Sam had even come home last night.

While he must have still been feeling the sting of betrayal by an inconsiderate little brother, Dean had excused Sam's arrival after his curfew. Made him food and took care of him as always. Even allowed him to make plans to be out with his girlfriend long after Dad's rules required Sam to be at home.

Always the caring big brother.

The one that had looked out for Sam since day one. And Sam had done nothing but run away behind his back, on more than one occasion, and hide things from him.

Suddenly, Sam wasn't feeling so great about himself at the moment.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Hungry?"

Dean had turned around long enough to throw Sam a quick smile and nudge his head to prompt Sam to sit at the table. Sliding into the chair, Sam put the letters next to where a place had been set for him, noting that there was already a glass of juice poured and waiting.

"Hey, Dean," Sam muttered, voice choked with misery.

If his brother heard the trembling in Sam's throat, he ignored it. Instead flipping a stack of pancakes on a plate and adding a good pile of bacon. Moving easily, Dean set the plate in front of Sam and shifted the syrup container and the butter dish closer to him.

"You still like blueberries in them, don't cha?"

Another quick glimpse. Just long enough for Sam to give a shaky nod in the affirmative, and then Dean was back to the stove finishing off cooking his own meal. A minute later, Dean had joined Sam at the table and was already devouring half of his bacon while Sam sat without moving or speaking and unable to meet his brother's eyes.

"C'mon dude, your food is getting cold."

Sam looked up long enough to frown guiltily at his brother before Dean went back to his breakfast. They were quiet for another minute while the younger boy worked up the courage to breach the silence.

"Are we going to pretend you didn't see these?" Sam asked softly, pushing the letters towards the center of the table.

Dean shoved a forkful of pancakes in his mouth and took a large gulp from his coffee cup while a few more heartbeats passed.

"If that's how you wanna play it."

"It's not," Sam muttered, raking his hair back. "I've wanted to tell you for a while now."

Dean seemed to consider this. He ate a little more. Had some more coffee. Got up to refill his mug and then one for Sam too, putting it in front of his brother with the creamer and sugar Sam needed.

"Eat, Sammy."

Sam took a deep breath and obeyed by absently nibbling on a strip of bacon, although his appetite had completely vanished since finding the green egg.

"I wanted to tell you the minute they came," he insisted quietly. "I swear."

Dean pushed his plate away and let out a deep breath. He didn't seem angry, which Sam was grateful for, but he wasn't okay either.

"Then why didn't you?"

Putting down the half eaten bacon, Sam raised his eyes to meet his brother's and shot him a pleading look.

"I just didn't know how," he said simply, his whole being begging for understanding. "I'm sorry."

Over in his chair, coffee cup clutched between both of his hands, Dean nodded. He pressed his lips together in contemplation and then rubbed a hand down his face before standing back up to lean against the counter. Sam wasn't surprised by the motion because his brother had always been a better thinker when he was moving.

It was when Dean didn't move that it usually meant trouble.

"Sammy, Dad isn't going to let you go, man. You have to know that already."

"I can make him understand," Sam stated with more confidence than he felt. "I will make him understand."

Dean was shaking his head, clearly not as sure as his brother was. Sam didn't understand their father on a good day, and he certainly didn't understand the lengths that John would go to keep his kids safe.

"Sam. Dad is already more nervous than a whore in church as it is," Dean said gently. "I guarantee that he is literally counting the days until your graduation, so he can pull us out of here."

"He can't force me to go, once I'm eighteen," Sam muttered petulantly.

Dean laughed and shook his head at the absurdness of his little brother's statement. As if their father really cared about something as trivial as his son's technical adulthood when it came to his protection.

"Yeah, kiddo," he scoffed, shaking his head. "You be sure to tell him that. But kiss your ass goodbye first, because you'll be losing the use of it."

Sam scowled for a few seconds, but backed down when faced with his brother's far more menacing glare.

"I don't want to see you get your hopes up over something that can't happen," Dean said sympathetically, not liking to see the unhappiness on his brother's face.

Sam waited half a heartbeat and sighed, giving his brother the impression that he had accepted defeat. Only for the boy to purse his lips in determination and sit up a little straighter in his chair.

"It is going to happen, Dean," Sam stated plainly. "I am going. I've already made up my mind. Dad isn't going to change it."

Sighing heavily, Dean shook his head in disbelief, not willing to accept the blindly vehement certainty behind his brother's statements. Sammy couldn't possibly mean that he was just planning on walking away from the job.

From his family.

Even his little brother couldn't be that selfish.

"Dad needs us, Sam. You know that," Dean tried to reason.

"Dad needs you, Dean," Sam responded quietly, rubbing his sweaty palms down the front of his pants. "You guys have been hunting together for years, and you're already a better hunter than I'll ever be. Hell, you're as good as Dad is. You'll have his back."

Dean's eyes flared with anger and hurt as his fingers gripped the side of the counter behind him.

"And what about me, Sammy? Who's gonna have my back if you're off in some class somewhere?"

Suddenly, Sam stood up from his chair and strode over to his brother, reaching out to grip Dean's shoulder in his hand as he stared directly in his brother's snapping green eyes.

"Me. I'm gonna have your back," he stated firmly. "I'm not falling off the face of the earth, Dean. I'm just going to college. I'll still do all the research. I'll still join you guys on hunts as much as I can."

Sam's plaintive statements were jarring in their insistence, but not necessarily reassuring. Sure, Dean would love to believe that his little brother meant every word he was saying, but it was one thing to make a broad arbitrary statement to keep the peace, and quite another to actually follow through with it when the time came.

The older brother wasn't entirely convinced that when push shoved, Sam would be standing on his six with his Taurus ready for action.

Taking in a deep breath, Dean rubbed his face with the hand not being pinned by his brother's tight grip.

The earnestness in Sam's eyes was fiercely warring with Dean's own desire to keep his little family safe and together, and the big brother was finding himself increasingly worn down and dangerously close to a tentative acceptance of the idea.

Because it had always been tough to deny Sammy anything.

"Sam," he started, trying again to be reasonable and swallowing hard as his mouth went dry. "Dad raised us to be hunters. It's our job. Our lives."

Sam closed his eyes and sighed deeply, hating that he could literally hear his big brother's heart breaking, but desperately needing to come fully clean and be honest now that Dean knew all his secrets.

"I don't want it to be my life, Dean," he said sadly. "I'm not like you and Dad, and you know that." He took a deep breath frowned sadly. "I'm just not. I'm sorry."

And Dean closed his eyes in resignation, because deep down he knew it was true.

Sammy hated the The Life.

All the way down to the very core of his entire being.

He hated the constant upheaval and the lawlessness of how they normally funded their existence. He hated the pain, and the blood and the violence.

Always living on the edge. Never fully relaxed. Constantly drifting and friendless. Over-caffeinated and forced to forever be on alert and observant. Always expecting the next shit storm coming at them.

The uncertainty of one, or two or all of them not making it out of a fight in one piece or even alive. Forever chasing this big evil invisible murdering monster that had taken their mother, along with any semblance of a regular life for any of them.

For years Dean had unwillingly harbored the very real truth that someday Sam would walk away from the job. From the family. He never admitted it out loud, because actually saying it would somehow make this random, abstract concept all too real.

But he had somehow just always known.

The first time that Dean had gone on a hunt, just himself with their father, leaving Sam behind in a motel room, alone and scared, with nothing but his imaginary friend to comfort him, Dean had spent two days forcing himself to push the frightened face of his little brother out of his mind as he worked.

When they returned and stepped exactly one foot in the door, Sam had thrown himself at his big brother like he had been shot across the room from a cannon. Trembling like a tiny, needy octopus, arms and legs impossibly wrapped around Dean's thirteen year old body.

Dean could tell from his little brother's face that Sammy hadn't eaten or slept the entire time they were gone, and it was a full three days after that the kid finally allowed Dean to be out of his sight for more than five minutes.

There comes a time in all parents' lives when they find themselves making choices that may be incredibly painful for them personally, but ultimately means that their kids are healthy, happy and safe. Dean was slowly coming to the realization that he was going to need to let Sam go.

Just a little.

No matter how much it hurt, because that is what Sam needed to make him happy.

Dean had never thought of himself as Sam's father because, for one, it was ridiculous.

And two, to acknowledge all the times when he had been forced to step into the role would be to admit how often their own father wasn't around, and Dean would never think so poorly about Dad.

It didn't mean that Dean didn't feel the gut wrenching pain of forcing himself to let his kid go find his way in the world on his own. When all he wanted to do was keep Sam safe in the seat next to him in the Impala forever.

Dean wasn't Sammy's parent. Not in the traditional sense. But, yeah, he still kinda was.

Was it fair to insist on his little brother living a life that scared him? A life he hated? Just so Dean could drive to the next job and be able to see a floppy head of chestnut curls leaning back against the passenger side of Baby?

He took a deep breath. Curled his fingers so tight that the skin stretched and protested the pain as his nails dug into the soft skin of his palms.

"How are you going to have my back from California, Sam?"

Which...was actually not the question he had in mind to ask first.

Sam's worried, pinched, elfin face fell as his ears burned red with rising emotion.

"I'm sorry," he whispered pitifully. "I'm sorry I didn't talk to you before I went out there. I will always be sorry for that."

Sam's face begged for understanding. For absolution, and Dean scrunched his eyes closed, unable to bear witness to the naked pain and regret. It was a few seconds before Sam could even speak again, swallowing hard to keep his composure.

"I'm not going to Stanford," he confessed quietly. "I got accepted, but I haven't heard back about a scholarship. Even if I wanted to go there, I can't afford it without one."

The icy claw that had gripped Dean's heart tight and was threatening to shred it inside his chest eased back a tiny fraction of an inch at the knowledge that his kid was not actually running all the way to the West Coast in his bid for escape. He blinked, breathed deeply to steady his heart rate and rubbed his face.

"Okay. For argument's sake. What exactly is your plan?"

Sam looked up hopefully, and a little spark of excitement tinged his rapidly blinking eyes.

"I wanna stay here," he said, his voice a little shaky.

"Here?" Dean asked, forehead crinkled in confusion. "Like here in Sioux Falls? Or here in this house?"

"Both," Sam continued, gradually becoming even more excited. "The university here. Man, they rolled out the red carpet for me. Wait until I show you the scholarship package. It takes care of everything, including enough of a living expenses stipend that I could swing keeping the house with a little help from federal grants."

Sam was bouncing now, grinning from ear to ear as he quickly snatched up the thick stack of papers from the University of Sioux Falls. He held them out for Dean to take, and the older brother quickly scanned them, not really sure just what he was looking at, but determined to figure it all out before he had to plead Sam's case to their father.

Dean put the papers aside and crossed his arms again, already reluctantly committed to try and make this happen. Truthfully, it wasn't so far away from his own plans going forward. While he would have preferred to have his brother by his side at all times, at least Sam was willing to stay protected in the home they had made here when he wasn't on the job with them.

It was as good a compromise as he could have hoped for at the moment, he supposed.

"Okay. So how exactly would this work?"

Sam was overjoyed that his brother was being so incredibly reasonable, and it showed. The kid was literally bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"I go to classes at the university, and join you guys on hunts whenever I can," he promised. "I'll try to schedule my classes so that I can be available as much as possible. Of course it won't be easy, because I have obligations regarding course load for my scholarship and I'll need to be available to my advisers and any extra activities that I might be required to attend, but I'll only be a phone call away to help with any research you need, I promise, and I know that you'll probably need a bunch, but that's okay too because I'll have access to a bigger library now and..."

"Sam!" Dean yelled sharply.

"Yeah?" Sam asked breathlessly, eyes blinking rapidly.

"Babbling," Dean stated.

"Sorry," Sam muttered, embarrassed.

The brothers stood in silence for a moment as Sam's excitement dialed down to a more manageable level and Dean mentally made his peace with the whirl of changing circumstances for their little family.

"Okay," he said finally, reaching out to cup Sam around the back of his neck. "When you're ready to talk to Dad, I'll help you make this work. Maybe between the two of us, he won't lose his freakin' mind right away."

Sam exhaled the deep, agonizing breath that had been building up in his chest for months. Petrified that his brother wouldn't understand, and scared to death of trying to do this all on his own. Relieved, he threw his arms around Dean's shoulders and held tight, hands fisting the cotton of his brother's outer shirt, as he buried his face in Dean's shoulder.

"Thank you, big brother."

Not one to normally indulge in too many hugs, Dean returned the affection, finding himself feeling a scary sensation of impending loss that he couldn't explain considering the depths he'd just agreed to keep Sam happy. He stood firm, eyes closed as he tightened his grip around his little brother's thin shoulders.

Wanting nothing more than to just keep his kid close to him forever, and desperately afraid that he was fighting a battle he wasn't sure his heart could afford to lose.

/

Her hair smelled like spring flowers, the long strands tickling his face as he leaned in closer to gently trail tender kisses up her neck. Underneath him, her body responded, back arching slightly as she hummed contentedly and twisted her fingers in the curls on the back of his head. He pushed closer and softly nibbled on her earlobe, and she answered, reaching under his shirt to lightly rake her nails across his bare back.

He folded both arms under her, pulling her closer, and continued his kisses, now finding her waiting plump lips. She allowed the exploration of his curious tongue against her own, shifting to wrap her left leg around the back of his right calf as they pressed harder into the couch cushions.

He drew back momentarily, holding the girl in his arms as if she were made of the most precious, fragile glass, and the warmth and affection in his hazel eyes brought a soft sweet smile to her face. Still clutching his back, she drew him slowly down to her again, offering up the pale milky skin just peeking out of her slightly unbuttoned blouse.

He went willingly, nuzzling the area just under her throat, as she guided his right hand to cup the side of her left breast. He pulled back momentarily, his eyes wordlessly asking her consent to go farther, and she replied by skimming her right hand down the rough jean material over his cute behind.

Permission granted, he leaned back in, easing away her blouse a few inches farther from her breast as he lay more kisses skirting the top of her lacy bra. Deep in a blissful state, they continued their mutual tentative exploration of each other. Not going too far. Clothes pushed aside an inch here and an inch there, but never removed.

Gentle. Tender. Intimate, but respectful.

It could have been ten minutes. It could have been five hours.

Life outside their bubble was suspended as they curved their bodies against each other. They had all the time in the world. All alone in the house, because Sam had an awesome big brother that was giving them privacy and space. A chance to relax and acquaint themselves with each other, without Sam's lanky form crushed into the seat of his Camaro.

She lay underneath him, her ice blue eyes intensely probing every contour of his beautiful face. Enjoying the warmth of his body covering her own, held carefully to keep enough pressure elevated so she wasn't smothered by his heavier weight. She felt his arousal press against her pelvic region, and he blushed, beginning to pull away before she grabbed him more firmly and drew him back in.

Her own body responded, and she shifted to lock her other leg around his, holding him tight between her thighs. Emboldened, his kisses became more intense and their mutual breaths caught faster as hands gripped and explored. Her head rocked back, eyes shut tight as she bit down on her bottom lip when he gently nipped the yielding flesh above her collar bone.

He tenderly extended her arm and nuzzled his nose along the soft white skin of her inner forearm as he planted kiss after gentle kiss along the full length, and she reached out to run her fingers through his chestnut locks, lovingly caressing the side of his face.

For a moment, they stilled their motions and just gazed into the depths of each other's adoring eyes. His breath caught with the sudden surge of affection he held for her. Wanting nothing more than to care for her. Protect her and hold her close. She lay against the throw pillow and smiled at him. Content and relaxed in his embrace.

Slowly, he guided their bodies in a half turn so that she was now laying on him, her slight weight nestled comfortably in his arms, head resting against his chest as she listened to the rapid beat of his heart. One arm held her close, while the other hand slid under her blouse and stroked her back.

Now in control, she took the initiative and leaned back in to repeat his earlier motions. Her kisses were more insistent than his had been. A more fiery passion as she explored his mouth and he moaned, his groin aching and pushing against her with increasing desire.

The couple were oblivious to anything but each other. Not even realizing that a car had pulled into the driveway, and not distracted from one another until the front door unlocked and someone else entered the living room.

The next thing they heard was a man clearing his throat repeatedly, and when the girl finally looked up, her eyes flew wide and her body was paralyzed with fear.

"Oh my God."

The panic in his girlfriend's voice finally shook sense back into Sam, and his first reaction was annoyance, because Dean had promised them a couple more hours of privacy. But the look of horror on Alex's face caused him to frown and quickly shift to look behind him.

Where he saw the unsmiling and scarily quiet face of John Winchester staring down at them.

Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit

Sam drew in a quick shaky breath, but had the foresight to scramble up to a sitting position, shifting Alex behind him protectively.

"Um..hi, Dad."

John scowled, his eyes dark with mounting anger. Looking from his nervous and guilt laden son to the tiny little brunette peeking out from behind him. He glared for another few seconds, letting Sam panic a little more before jerking his head to the right.

"Samuel. Kitchen. Right now, young man."

Sam swallowed hard, shakily getting to his feet as John stood, arms crossed and getting more irate by the second.

"Yes, sir."

He threw one quick glance to Alex and gave her a small smile to reassure her before obeying, his father following close on his heels.

Once in the kitchen, Sam stood at attention as his father strode in behind him. John crossed his arms again and stared his son down. From Sam's tousled hair, wrinkled shirt and desperate need to adjust himself, it was pretty obvious what he had been doing. John took a quick look at his watch and scowled even more.

"Wanna tell me why you're screwing around on the couch with a girl on a school night when you're supposed to be in bed in ten minutes?"

"There's no school tomorrow, sir," Sam answered nervously, swallowing hard again. "Teacher conference day before spring break starts."

Still annoyed but slightly mollified by the answer, John lifted an eyebrow and threw a quick look to the panicking girl on the couch in the next room, trying hard to make herself more presentable.

"Where's your brother? Does he know what's going on here?"

"Yes, sir," Sam answered, trying to slow his rapid heartbeat. "He's working at Uncle Bobby's until I have to drive Alex home."

John took a deep breath and studied his son's earnest face. Remembering what it was like to be seventeen with a pretty girl. When all you cared about was sating your raging teenage hormones, regardless of where you were or who could catch you. John had been there himself a few times before Mary.

At least Sam and his girl were dressed and safe at home. Not like the first time he had caught Dean. But then his boys had always been very different when it came to matters of the heart.

On the couch, Alex was stealing surreptitious glances towards the open kitchen.

Sam's posture was as rigid as a solider, but there was terror on his face as he faced his father. She couldn't hear what they were saying, the words too low to make it to the next room. Mr. Winchester looked scary enough to frighten just about anything, but then again she knew the Marines were a special breed, and he clearly held himself as intimidating as any military man.

Maybe even more.

In the kitchen, John gave his wayward son one more hard look. Not quite ready to let him off the hook, but not willing to embarrass him in front of his girl either.

"Okay, Sammy. You're gonna introduce me to your girl. Then you're gonna drive her home. We'll talk about this when you get back."

"Yes, sir," Sam muttered quietly, thoroughly mortified and obediently following John as he strode back into the living room.

Alex stood up when they re-entered the room, comforted when Sam braved his father's displeasure to stand by her side and take her trembling hand into his own.

"Dad, this is my girlfriend, Alexandra Logan," Sam said, trying to steady his voice. "Alex, this is my father, John Winchester."

Surprisingly, John smiled warmly, a hint of his dimples peeking out of his thick beard. Alex noticed, for just a second, exactly how much Sam looked like his dad, and the thought strangely made her feel better.

"It's nice to meet you, young lady. My sons have told me a lot about you," John said.

"It's nice to finally meet you too, sir," Alex replied sweetly, impressing John with her manners. "Sam talks about you a lot. He told me you encourage him to study Latin, which is so great."

John smiled to himself. Not sure if he should take her words as a compliment or censure, With Sam you never knew, although Alexandra seemed genuine in her enthusiasm.

"It's an important skill for some professions," John said cryptically, noticing Sam's eyes flare wide with discomfort.

After a few awkward seconds, John returned his attention to his son.

"There and right back, Samuel," he said firmly before turning back to Alex and giving her a parting nod.

"Yes, sir," Sam replied respectfully, grabbing their coats.

Alex took the hint and allowed him to help her into hers before he donned his own. Grabbing his keys quickly, Sam ushered her out of the house and out to his car. As usual, he held the door open for her until she was seated inside and buckled in because, if nothing else, his dad had taught him good manners around a lady. He trotted around the to driver's side, got in and revved the engine to life.

They drove for just a minute, Sam looking distracted behind the wheel. Alex peered over at him, her pretty face clouded with concern.

"Are you in a lot of trouble?"

Sam gave her a shy half smile and shrugged, keeping one eye on the road as he cruised through the familiar streets. There was no easy way to tell her how unpredictable his father' s moods were.

"Maybe," he confessed. "A little. I don't know. Probably depends on whether or not my brother gets back before I do."

Alex frowned and put a comforting hand on his right arm. She was going to feel just awful if she had caused any problems for her boyfriend at home. Sam slid his arm away from her hand just long enough to grab it with his own and hold it gently.

"Don't worry about it," he soothed. "My dad's always on my case about something. It's no big deal."

When she didn't look convinced, he lifted their joined hands and pressed a soft kiss on her fingers.

"Besides," he continued, "I wouldn't change one minute of the time we spent together tonight."

There was affection and truth in his eyes, and Alex drew herself as close to him as she dared without impeding his ability to drive.

Neither one of them spoke again until Sam pulled into her driveway. He shut the engine and leaned over to give her another long deep kiss that took her breath away and went all the way down to her toes. She sighed in contentment while he dove deeper, holding her as close as possible.

All too soon she felt them pulling apart, and he jumped out of the car and raced around to open her door for her, reaching in to help her out. Hands entwined, he walked Alex to her front door where her parents had left the porch lights on for her return.

Holding both of her hands in his, Sam leaned in to give her one more soft kiss before he had to leave her, reluctant to let her go. With his father home and school out for the next week, depending on John's mood, it might be a while before Sam was allowed to see her again. So he was going to make the most of their last few minutes together while he could.

Alex pushed up on her toes to reach her much taller boyfriend's waiting lips and she moaned deeply as their kiss lingered a little longer than normal than their usual parting. When Sam finally pulled back, there was sadness and worry in his eyes, and she felt a pinch of sorrow.

"I'll call you when I get home, if I can," he promised her. "But I'm not sure how soon I'll be able to see you again."

She nodded, understanding, and reluctantly pulled away.

"Okay."

Sam hesitated on the porch until she was safely inside and then reluctantly returned to his car. He drove home a little slower than he knew he should, because his father was expecting him back quickly, but after such a wonderful night, he wasn't looking forward to getting into with John.

While he had Alex in the house, and was still reeling from his father's unexpected and unwanted appearance, Sam had held his tongue to avoid starting a fight that would only escalate and humiliate him. Dad would not have the least bit of concern over dressing down his son in front of his girlfriend if Sam was belligerent or disrespectful.

It was bad enough that Sam was unfairly forced to cut his evening short. He didn't need to have his girlfriend be uncomfortably exposed to the overbearing and controlling way his father treated him.

He only grew angrier as he drove. They weren't doing anything wrong, and there had been no need for his father to act like they had. When Dean was his age, Dad caught him in the actual act of screwing his girl. All Sam was doing was making out with Alex.

Clothes on and on the couch, not even in the privacy of his bedroom. It was hardly scandalous.

By the time he reached their house, the Impala was in the driveway, and Sam pushed aside a wave of unfair anger towards his brother that he couldn't explain. Dean had given permission after all. Had even made himself scarce so that Sam could have the house. And yet, here Sam was, about to be on the receiving end of another world class John Winchester Ass Chewing.

Although, he also grudgingly acknowledged that Dean was more than likely to help Sam talk their father into going easy on his youngest.

The black Chevy's engine was still ticking, which signaled that Dean hadn't been home long, and when Sam looked at his watch, he realized that his brother should still be at Uncle Bobby's for another half an hour, which meant that their father had called him home.

That didn't bode well for Sam.

He entered the house as boldly and unapologetic as he could.

Since he had done nothing wrong.

His father and brother were already deep in tense and animated conversation in the living room, and Sam scowled at them both, blaming each of them for interrupting what had been a perfect evening.

Dean shot him a sympathetic look and Sam sighed heavily, already knowing that Dad was still building up an unnecessary head of steam. Which John himself confirmed when he scowled and lifted a disapproving eyebrow in Sam's direction.

"Go to your room, Samuel. I'll be up to talk to you in a minute."

Whether it was because he was upset that his evening with Alex got cut short, or Sam was just getting bolder about confronting his father, he didn't know. The order pissed him right the fuck off and stupidly possessed him to talk back.

"No. Dad, c'mon. You're making a big deal over nothing."

Dean's eyes flared wide, obviously wondering if his little brother had experienced some sort of weirdo, alien abduction head injury on the drive home, because a sane man would not take that tone with John fucking Winchester right now. Dad's face went red, and then magenta, as he turned full fury towards his youngest.

"Excuse me?"

"We were only kissing, for fucks sake! You didn't have to embarrass me by making me take her home early."

Sam was now trembling with rage and shooting poisonous glares at both father and brother. Dean shut his eyes and shook his head, knowing the damage was already done by the sharp stiffening of his father's shoulders.

John took a threatening step in Sam's direction and got directly in his face. Even though Sam was now slightly taller than his father, it didn't make John's presence any less intimidating, and Sam felt himself backing up as reason and self preservation slowly began to take hold in his mind.

"You've got exactly five seconds to get your ass to your room before I put you there myself, young man," John hissed menacingly. "Do not test me right now."

Sam threw one more increasingly hostile scowl at his father and then another at his brother for keeping quiet. Unfairly, Sam was annoyed at Dean for not interfering. Always the good soldier. Always toeing the line where their father was concerned. Even when it was Sam that was in the right.

"Fine," Sam growled, turning for the stairs. He was stopped by his father's firm hand on his arm spinning him back around.

"What'd you say?"

Chest now heaving in anger, Sam gritted his teeth until his father's glare forced his eyes down submissively.

"Yes, sir," he bit out, as respectfully as he could under the circumstances.

John growled but let him go, Sam's insubordinate attitude leaving a lot to be desired, and allowed his youngest to stomp up the stairs in a huff before the kid's mouth got him in any deeper.

Upstairs they could hear Sam's door close hard, but it wasn't technically a slam and John, although thoroughly pissed, had to grudgingly give his kid credit for not being stupid enough to test his father's patience at the moment. He rubbed his face and turned to his firstborn, still hot with anger and more than irritated with both of his children.

"What the hell were you thinking letting him have a girl here alone?"

Dean now stood at attention, but he looked his father directly in the eye as he responded.

"I was thinking that it wasn't a school night, sir," he reported stiffly. "I was thinking better that he's here at home than out somewhere else."

Seeing John's face soften minutely, Dean took that as permission to continue.

"He really likes her, Dad. And she's a good kid," Dean tried to reason. "You know I wouldn't let him have her over if I thought she was going to be trouble for him."

And John did know. Because Dean was all too well aware of what connections meant in their family. Feeling tired, John felt his blood pressuring lowering as he took a seat on the couch.

It's not that the didn't want Sam to have a girlfriend. He would be more than pleased to have both of his children happy and in love, like he had been himself with their mother. But it wasn't the right time for romance. Right now their lives were exposed to way too many risks to take chances.

"You know this can't go far," he said sternly to Dean, expecting his firstborn to understand.

And Dean nodded, because he did understand. Living his own life as he did, he knew what the stakes were regarding bringing a person that Sam really cared for into the mix. While he wanted his little brother to be happy and have some fun, Sam would eventually have to give her up whether he wanted to or not.

Dean got up to grab them both a beer, hoping that a few minutes of peace and quiet and some light alcohol would mellow his father enough that he didn't just outright kill Sam when he went up to confront his younger son.

Thankfully John sat in comfortable silence with his eldest for a bit nursing his drink, while Dean kept his mouth shut and channel surfed, not wanting to risk saying anything that might get his father going again.

Perched on the couch next to his oldest boy, John took deep cleansing breaths. Before he had to go up and talk to Sam, he wanted to be as calm as possible, because when the two of them went at it, it only ended up ripping them both apart. As much as his youngest would disagree, John didn't actually enjoy fighting with his kid all the time.

Especially since Sam was right.

With Dean having given consent, the boy had not done anything wrong until he shot off that smart mouth of his. John was at least man enough, and father enough, to be able to admit to his kid when he had made a mistake.

Up in his room Sam had changed for bed and was now sitting and waiting for his father to come in.

He must have been nuts losing his temper like that.

He knew his father was already upset with him, and it was plain suicide to push the man's buttons when he was already in trouble. Even if Sam was in the right, Dad would not overlook a son's insubordination.

Sam knew his father was angry. He just wasn't sure how angry.

It had been bad enough that Sam had broken one of the main Rules, even though he had Dean's permission. Because Dad wasn't always necessarily fair about that kind of distinction if he felt his authority was being undermined, especially by his own kids.

Worried about the plans he had already made for spring break with his friends, and seething from the injustice of it all, Sam had given his father more than a bit of permissible attitude downstairs, and he damn well knew it.

It wasn't the first time he had disappointed his father, and Sam knew with surety that it wouldn't be the last. Dad was forever taking fault with every little thing Sam did, no matter how hard Sam worked to please his father.

Maybe not with hunting.

Although Sam did force himself to read as much as could, to be as helpful with the research as he could, because that was one way he could be an asset to the family business that didn't require him to shoot something.

Of course it wasn't easy when your big brother was practically perfect in every way in their father's eyes.

When it came to your enlistment in the Winchester Family Army, it was more than a little demoralizing to be the less-than-stellar little brother of Dean, Hunter Extraordinaire, right hand man and trusted second in command to John.

Sam had learned a long time ago that he would never measure up to his brother in their father's opinion, and he was just about done trying.

More than ever Sam was looking forward to the day when he didn't have to worry about navigating his father's arbitrary temper anymore. Especially as he had a hard enough time keeping his own in check, because Dad had a remarkably special gift for bringing out the temperamental asshole in his younger son.

Alex was a nice girl. A straight A student that came from a good family. Most parents would be thrilled with their son bringing her home. Maybe not for a heavy make-out session on the couch of an otherwise empty house, but still.

Dad shouldn't make a federal case over Sam wanting her.

He truly hated the double standard of his life. Dad had never said one word about all the one night stands that Dean had at seventeen, other than Keep it wrapped, Son, and yet Sam being faithful to one nice girl was enough to start a war.

It wasn't fair. Not even a little bit.

Anger building back up like a roiling flood, Sam kept himself deeply engulfed in his brooding until he was forced to surface back to reality.

All too soon he heard his father's heavy boot steps coming up the stairs, a deep thudding against the aging wood. Echoing ominously through the small house like a foreboding countdown to his impending doom.

He straightened up involuntarily, years of conditioned obedience making his body react to his father's strict discipline. He was a little surprised to hear the knock on his door, having expected Dad to just walk straight in, because a thin wood door wasn't keeping John Winchester away from a disrespectful son.

"Come in," he called quietly.

When his father walked in, Sam noticed that he wasn't already carrying his belt in his hand. So it was more likely that Sam would be put on lock down for his mouth, and/or given even more PT than he already had.

Although, considering that he had hopeful plans for himself and Alex during the holiday, he would rather just take a whipping and get it over with, tired of the constant fighting already.

He cursed his temper again for fucking up his vacation.

Expecting John to immediately start yelling, he steeled himself, determined to keep quiet this time because he didn't need to dig his hole any deeper than it already was. Instead, he was startled when his father came over and sat next to Sam on the bed, leaning his forearms on his thighs, hands clasped between his knees.

"Dean confirmed he gave you permission," John started, looking sideways at his son who was staring at the floor. "So, it's not that I'm upset that you had your girl over."

Sam frowned in confusion, finally looking at his father.

"Then why?"

Dad took a deep breath, rubbing his hands together and was quiet for half a minute, gathering his thoughts.

"You can't get too attached to her, Sammy. You know better than that."

And Sam closed his eyes and grimaced, because it was one of the longstanding mantras of their family.

The Winchesters couldn't afford to have any connections...Hunting wasn't just a job, it was life...and the only people they could count on was each other...Family.

Blah, blah, fuckity blah.

Sam loved his family, but it was a lonely way to go through life, and he simply wasn't prepared to do it anymore.

"I like her, Dad," he said quietly, too tired to make his father see reason at this point.

He fidgeted under his father's intense scrutiny for a minute until John released a deep breath.

"I know you do, kiddo. And no one is telling you that you can't casually date her until school is over. But after that, you're gonna have to let her go. Can you do that?"

His father's calm and rational voice was surprising Sam. As if the man was actually concerned with the answer. Because Dad wasn't one to take his sons' viewpoints into consideration after laying down the law.

"I don't know," Sam answered, surprising himself with his own honesty. "I don't want to."

"But you're going to," John stated firmly. "She's a liability right now, and she could get hurt if something goes after her to get to you."

Sam shook his head, feeling his anger at the injustice of his life rising.

"This isn't fair, Dad," he said bitterly. "I'm not gonna dump a girl I care about just because something might happen. Something can always happen to anyone, at any time. Why can't I just be normal for once?"

"This isn't a debate, Son," John said with finality. "I don't want to make it an order, but I will if I have to. Do I need to make it an order?"

Sam shut his eyes tightly and clenched his teeth together. If his father ordered him to stop seeing Alex, that was it. There wasn't anything he or Dean could do to change John's mind, and Sam wasn't willing to risk it.

He would do as he pleased, when his father wasn't at home, and deal with the fallout at a later date. He needed to save his energy for the conversation they were going to have to have soon regarding Sam's decision to go to college.

"No, sir."

John nodded, relieved that he wouldn't have to take this any further at the moment.

Road weary and worn out from fighting with his kid, he rubbed his palms on his jeans wanting nothing more than to get some rest.

Sam was still so young, and there were times when he just didn't seem to want to understand why John did what he did to keep the boys safe. To be fair, John would have rebelled just as hard when he was Sam's age, if the situation had been the same.

As much as he wished it could be different for his kids, it just wasn't.

Sam didn't look rebellious at the moment. Just young and tired and sad. John was still annoyed by the boy's attitude earlier, and had planned on doling out a little discipline before sending his smart mouthed son to bed but, all things considered, he just couldn't summon up the energy, so he decided to go easy on the kid.

"I didn't like your tone earlier, Samuel," he scolded, getting his point across.

"I'm sorry," Sam muttered, staring down at his hands and waiting for his sentence to be handed down.

"I was wrong earlier," John admitted. "I didn't realize you were on vacation, and I'm sorry."

Sam looked up, eyes agog at his father's statement, and his mouth dropped partway open in shock. He would have thought he had a better chance at winning the lottery than to get his dad to admit he was wrong about anything.

"Because of our miscommunication," John started, "I'm gonna let your insubordination slide. This time," he stressed. "But if I have to speak to you about it again, it's gonna be an entirely different conversation."

"Yes, sir," Sam stuttered, brow still furrowed in confusion at his father's leniency.

John reached out to rub the back of Sam's neck briefly before getting to his feet.

"Get in bed, kiddo. Lights out in five."

"Yes, sir."

Sam stood up and pulled his blankets back as John walked to the door.

"Good night, Sammy."

Sam managed a small smile, grateful for the reprieve. "Night, Dad."

After Dad left, Sam quickly said his prayers and then turned off the light. Once Sam was in bed, he grabbed his phone and flipped it open to text Alex.

All O K. Miss U.

He waited a few seconds and then the phone vibrated with the incoming message.

:) Wz worried. Miss U 2.

Sam would have liked to talk more, but he needed to keep his texts down to a manageable number. Dean had already cautioned him that their father would be less than pleased if Sam didn't have any texts left for the month and they needed to contact him.

A mild understatement.

Sighing, he shifted around in his bed to get comfortable. As much as he hated to admit that his father was right about anything, he knew his growing affection for Alex was becoming a problem.

Not for the reasons that John had concerns over, but because in just a few months, she would be leaving to go to school at NYU. No matter which college Sam wound up at, they were going to be living very far apart in the very near future.

The idea of a long distance relationship didn't really appeal to him, because he knew that they were very hard to keep going strong. That and the fact that they were both still so young, and as much as he felt for her right now, he couldn't say with any honesty if she was the one.

Sam himself was going to college to study, and the social life aspect of it wasn't necessarily high on his list of priorities, but he also couldn't rightly say if he wouldn't eventually start to feel left out of activities because his girlfriend was thousands of miles away.

It was a disturbing thought. Best left for another night, when he didn't have the warm and fuzzy lingering memories of Alex's soft lips on his own and the warmth of her beautiful body pressed against him.

/

John spent most of the night tossing and turning in his bed in the basement bedroom. Dean had added a foam layer to the mattress at some point, and John had to smile at his son's thoughtfulness. He really was truly blessed with his firstborn.

Dean was his anchor. His rock.

He knew it was unfair to place another heavy duty burden on his son's already full shoulders. Dean already bore the brunt of caring for his brother, and on better days John felt enormous guilt well up when he let himself think about how much he relied on Dean to care for him as well.

A coward, John had not yet spoken to his eldest regarding his fears and concerns for Sammy.

Probably because it wouldn't be something that Dean would understand as clearly as he needed to.

Always a protective older brother, John suspected that Dean would dismiss the idea out of hand, and as tempting as that was for John to do as well, they couldn't afford to be in denial when it came to something this important.

John would find a way to save his little boy, even if the price was the cost of his own life.

He didn't know if Sammy was destined to evolve into something that John would feel compelled to hunt. All he knew was that he would do whatever it took to make sure that it never happened. John might need his firstborn in the fight, if for no other reason than to carry on if his father failed in his attempts.

Sammy had to be protected and saved. Nothing else mattered.

It wasn't his boy's fault.

Sam was an innocent pawn in a biblical game of high stakes, and John didn't appreciate his child being moved about the supernatural chessboard without his consent. If that meant he had to hold on to his boy a little tighter, hide him a little deeper, then that is what he was going to do.

Sammy wasn't even mature enough yet to understand how their lifestyle positively demanded a separation from the normal world.

Some day, he would.

John would make sure that he got there eventually. But until that time, it was his responsibility as the boy's father to make the hard decisions and force compliance. Fighting with his son was the absolute last thing that he wanted to do.

But John would risk his kid hating his guts if it kept him safe.

Belatedly he realized that he should be a decent enough father to know when his son's school vacations were. It had come as a complete surprise to find out that Sam was home all next week. John had been simply planning on checking in with his boys for a night and then heading out on the trip he had already scheduled.

A week with no classes was a long time for a young boy feeling the flush of a first love, and John suspected it was a first love, to spend with a young lady.

While he could force Sammy to spend the week training and doing abstract research for hunts that John wasn't even taking at the moment, he began to formulate a better plan.

His contact was in DC.

An annoying fact that rankled John because he despised big cities, only taking hunts in the more metropolitan areas when it couldn't be helped. Sam had long wanted to visit the Smithsonian, because John's smart boy could happily lose himself in a museum for hours without coming up for air.

Sammy's birthday was also coming up in a couple of weeks, and John wasn't sure if he would be in a position to be with his son when he finally turned eighteen. Not that he didn't want to. His sons' entire lives were spattered with long periods of absences and broken promises. Time lost that John would never be able to make up for.

And it hurt.

More than his kids could possibly ever understand.

Or maybe they could, because John had left them alone on many special days, and the pain of a neglected child had to be a hundred fold greater than that of a regretful father. The guilt clawed at John like a merciless specter, leaving him raw and bleeding inside for all of the ways he had failed his children.

Maybe he could kill a few birds with one stone right now.

Time and distance.

Tomorrow he could bundle his kids in the Impala like the old days. Just the three of them heading out together as a family.

Dean would love it.

John knew his firstborn was itching to tear up the open road. And he would do anything to make his little brother happy, even it if meant hours traipsing through museum exhibits.

Sammy would be beside himself to spend a few days playing tourist in Washington, and John had to admit that he needed to see his kids smile right now.

The last few months had been the hardest in his life apart from the time right after Mary's death. Too many harsh realities coming at him too fast to allow him to catch his breath. He was getting closer every day to ending it, once and for all, but even that was coming with a price.

By gaining ground in his hunt, he had learned terrible truths about his child. Truths that were ripping apart his very soul with grief.

John needed what was waiting for him in DC. It was a huge piece of the puzzle to finally gaining back some semblance of control over his life and that of his sons. But that didn't mean that he couldn't also do some immediate good for his boys along the way.

/

To say that their road trip got off to a bumpy start was an understatement.

Returning from their early morning run, John had informed his boys to be dressed and packed to leave in thirty.

Of course, Sam had immediately balked, and John could see the fire in his son's eyes, his temper already flaring with the unfairness of being dragged away during his vacation. As usual, Dean had stepped in the middle, immediately ready to follow his father anywhere, and moderating Sam's objections without any idea of where they were going or what they were expected to do.

Constant. Steady. Loyal. Obedient.

It would have made John proud if it didn't make him so much more sad.

John's own temper was starting to rise against his will. Quickly ravaging through the steely set determination he had woken up with to spend the next week enjoying his kids without constantly fighting with his younger boy.

It was taken every ounce of strength he had in him to keep his cool through Sam's insolent morning tantrums.

John had never been one to take dissension from his kids, especially when he was attempting to do something fun. Yet, somehow he managed to maintain his calm in the face of Sam's increasing insubordination, long enough to tell his boys that they were just taking a road trip.

No hunting job at the end of the journey.

Simply a normal family excursion.

Honestly, he couldn't blame them for their twin wary looks of incredulity and disbelief. Why shouldn't they doubt his innocent and well meaning intentions? He'd dragged his boys around the country their entire lives, and there was always a job related reason.

Always.

John tried not to laugh or be insulted in equal measures when Sam muttered Christo under his breath, hazel eyes wide and disbelieving.

The weary father's heart both swelled with love and broke in a thousand shattered pieces at the same time, for the cold cup of coffee to the face reminder of how his children had been forced to live. So perpetually abandoned and on edge that they couldn't even believe that their own dad would want to spend some quality time with them.

John had remained stoically silent during his youngest son's tirade. Ruthlessly pelted with sharp accusations of being absent and single minded, regardless of what his kids wanted, swirling through the air like poisonous vapor clouds. Leaving John wondering for the millionth time just how had he managed to let himself become this man that his little boy despised so much.

Eventually, he had barked out an order to them to get them moving. Already disgusted with himself for the years of relentless duty and disappointment that had conditioned his kids to only unfailingly respond to intimidation and threats.

And move they did, knowing full well that Dad's temper was momentarily in check, but could very well spill over at any second. Dean had physically dragged his little brother up the stairs, muttering harsh warnings about obvious death wishes, while Sammy bucked and kicked like a mule in his very aggressive dissent.

Dean at least started to believe their impending departure was on the level when John held out his hand for the Impala's keys. The truck was staying put, he told his boys. There was no need for the additional arsenal on a damn family road trip. Still unconvinced, Sam had petulantly flung his bag in the back seat, griping about being hauled away like luggage from his girlfriend and friends. Daring to remind his father that the agreement was hunting on weekends only.

John counted to ten in his head.

Twice.

Not at all wanting to start the trip off on a bad note, with resentment and hard feelings cascading like an acid rain tidal wave from the back seat for the next twelve hundred miles. Two direct orders to Sammy to get in the car were ignored while John and Dean packed their own things in the trunk.

His youngest continued to harp on his desire to be left home alone if his father and brother were needed on a job, and John's irritation grew, wondering just when his son had started to think that his father's orders were negotiable.

In the end, despite his hard fought intentions to maintain his temper, John had seriously had enough.

Finally just grabbing Sam and bodily pushing him towards the rear door. With a hard smack to the ass to suitably motivate him, along with a reminder of last night's discussion on respect and the threat of a quick trip back inside with John's belt if necessary.

Although John would really prefer that he not have to start off their vacation by whipping his bratty kid, no matter how much he was practically begging for it.

Sam could have melted his father with the laser hot hatred in his eyes. Face flushed with anger and potentially mortifying embarrassment over the possibility of a neighbor's prying eyes catching him being physically reprimanded out in the open like a naughty two year old.

Thrumming with hostility, the boy curled up in the back and spent half the state of Iowa staring out the rear window, petulantly ignoring every attempt by his father and brother to engage him in conversation.

Although Sam sat rigid and silent, John could tell that his boy was merely sitting in wait. Ready to pounce on his father the moment the discussion turned to anything even remotely supernatural. Willing and able to verbally flay John alive for having the offensive temerity to get the brothers into the car under false pretenses.

Not that the kid's skepticism was unwarranted, but John was determined to prove his son wrong.

He and Dean talked music and cars in the front. Words flowing carefree and easy between the two oldest Winchesters like always. They drove steadily, but nowhere near their normal life-or-death speed.

There was no real hurry.

John avoided the highway, preferring the lazily winding two lane blacktop of back roads. It was a beautiful spring day, and the windows were cranked open enough to allow a warm breeze to blow through the Impala's interior, playfully swirling the curls of the boy in the back seat.

Sam had nodded off somewhere around Cedar Rapids, pent up tension and teenage rage wearing him out after a night of too little rest and too much early morning sparring with his father. The boy had never been able to resist the rocking comfort of the old girl, lulling him to sleep like she had since he was just a tiny thing.

John sneaked the occasional glimpse of his slumbering child in the rear view mirror. In sleep, Sammy lost the pinched and hostile aggressive lines on his forehead and around his eyes and mouth, leaving only the sweet and innocent cherubic face of John's little boy.

The one that made John thoroughly and completely unwilling to believe that his son would ever be anything but good and decent and honorable.

Dean caught John's eye, knowing exactly what his father was seeing and he smiled, because no one knew Sammy like his big brother, and Dean had been on the receiving end of a hundred heated fights with his headstrong little brother.

There was a roadside farm stand just outside of Galesburg and, on long forgotten impulse, John pulled the car off and stopped. In the back seat, Sammy woke with a start, blinking away the lingering vestiges of sleep and silently questioning where they were. John got out of the car and stretched, the muscles in his back popping with the unpleasant reminder of his middle age.

He clapped his hands sharply to wake the boys up a little more and jerked his head towards the stand, indicating to his sons to join him, and they slowly complied.

He headed over, confused kids grudgingly following him, and John felt a sharp pang of sadness that his sons didn't remember all the times when he had done this when they were much smaller. A time when he was still a good father that was concerned that his boys were eating fresh fruit and vegetables occasionally, instead of their usual rote of junk and convenient drive thrus.

When money had been tight, the sporadic farm stands had provided an economic nutritional lifeline to a financially struggling dad trying to stave off scurvy in his rapidly growing children. The boys would sit in the back of the Impala, cardboard containers of berries and grapes on their laps, plopping them into their tiny rosebud mouths, smiling and dripping with juice.

Their father must have mopped up a thousand sticky messes from the black leather seats, but he had never really minded.

John didn't know exactly when he had stopped bothering with the simple things in life like roadside farm stands.

Or when he had stopped being truly adamant about the unhealthy amount of processed foods, fat and sugar that his boys ingested regularly. Coming home from a hunt and finding the trash baskets in the motel rooms overflowing with pizza boxes and empty chip bags and candy wrappers.

Sure, on the occasions that he was with them, he tried to press healthier eating on them, but still. At some point, he had just started to let such concerns go by the wayside as his little boys grew into young men.

Maybe it was when he has stopped caring about such things for himself. When his entire world vision had narrowed so drastically that all his mind had the capacity to process was revenge and the immediate physical safety of his kids.

Forget demons, ghouls, spirits and werewolves. Because of his lax parenting skills, Dean could be dead by thirty from heart disease or a stroke, with no lurking evil required to lend a helping hand to the demise of John's firstborn.

Sammy's face morphed from annoyed to confused, and then slowly to a tentative inquisitiveness as they shopped. By the time they returned to the car, they were laden down with bags and baskets of apples, bananas, apricots and strawberries. As John pulled back out into the road, his sons were contentedly snacking, quiet and peaceful in their seats while the mild breeze blew and the late morning sun warmed their handsome faces.

Looking in the rear view, John saw his youngest, now slowly nibbling on an especially large strawberry, and when Sam caught his father's eye in the mirror, his gave his dad the sweet shy smile of childhood. All traces of stubborn, angry teenager erased by a mouthful of fresh berries.

It made John incredibly sad and guilty that he had somehow forgotten just how simple it was to make his little boy happy. Because Sammy had always been an easy going, cuddly child when he was little.

Years of arguments and tension, and fits of anger and hostility on both sides, had horrifically discolored their relationship to the point where John sometimes dreaded seeing his youngest. For the poor reason that he didn't always have the emotional stamina to engage in an all out war with his own kid after what he had seen on the hunt.

It wasn't fair to either Sammy or John for him to feel that way. Wasn't fair to Dean either, since he would inevitably get caught in the crossfire.

On a good day, John could push past the pain and attempt to be something resembling a good dad.

He was confident that his boys always knew that they were loved, even when he wasn't around to show them.

Even when he was around, and was too emotionally wrecked to show them.

But there had come a time when the hunt overtook him almost completely, and small dreams and happiness for his kids became a far distant priority to their general well being and his own relentless need for justice for his Mary's murder.

Would Sam be tempted down a dark path, simply because his own damn father had stopped caring exactly just how much real happiness the boy had in life?

Looking from one son's beautiful face to the other, as John drove the family car towards the first real vacation they, well...ever...had, he was determined to make it up to them.

With three drivers in the car, especially three Winchesters, who lived on the open road and could do a long haul as easily as breathe, they didn't need to actually stop for the night. Between John and his boys, they could have powered through the twenty hour drive, swapping out places and sleeping in shifts until they reached DC.

But this wasn't a job, it was a vacation.

And John didn't feel the need to give his youngest any more ammunition for his significant arsenal of judgment and condemnation.

Besides, he was the dad in this equation, and he felt a strange desire to do all of the driving like he had when his kids were young. Dean didn't seem to mind, surprisingly enough. Maybe having seen something in his father's eyes that made the bright and observant young man understand his dad's quirky motivation.

Instead, they pulled over for the night just outside of Indianapolis, finding a nicer budget motel than they would have normally chosen. They weren't hunting, and they could feel reasonably comfortable that nothing, other than a love sick barmaid wishing to spend some quality time with John's firstborn, would trail them back to their room.

Clean linens that smelled fresh instead of stale. Pillows that didn't reek of cigarette smoke. Two full sized beds for his growing boys and a fairly decent cot for John who wasn't as precious about his own personal comfort when his kids needed a good night's sleep. No mystery stains on the carpet. No mold in the shower.

It was almost nice.

John had some cash put aside and two new cards. Dean brought his own fairly steady finances to the table. Between the two of them, they had more than enough to let their youngest run wild among the tourist traps of DC without worrying over how to budget.

Now that Sam was more convinced that this truly was a trip of pleasure and not of death and violence, he didn't even protest the steakhouse that his father and brother chose for dinner. The boy ate grilled chicken and salad and smiled while his other family members made edible love to their dinner plates of rare steaks and potatoes dripping in butter.

That was when John remembered about his earlier vow to get Dean to eat better, but his firstborn looked so happy that the indulgent dad let it go.

Afterwards, they found a bar, and while normally Sam would either be left at the motel or in the car, he joined John and Dean inside under the promise that his father would allow him to use his fake ID and indulge in a beer or two.

It was Friday night, and there was lively action in the smoky crowd.

Too lively for either elder Winchester to pass up, and John and Dean took turns sitting with Sam, who was getting increasingly buzzed on his third beer which John had grudgingly allowed. Sam hadn't really had anything to drink since that craptastic party when Jack invaded his veins, and he wasn't necessarily experienced at holding his booze, as much as he seemed to think so.

While Dean hustled pool, John sat with his younger son, and the boy's beer loosened lips had Sam decidedly chatty, rambling on and on about classes and his friends with a relaxed attitude that his father rarely got to see.

By the time it was John's turn to school some locals on the finer points of poker, Dean, having won big, got Sam his fourth and fifth beer, laughing at his little brother's slurred speech and increasingly pink cheeks.

John got them back to the motel late that night, both of his boys too drunk to drive, and Dean even waving off two blondes, a brunette and a very obviously bottle red head. Sammy was stumbling and giggly, an adorable happy little drunk when it wasn't the hard stuff, and John was struggling to keep a straight face as he wrestled a whining and protesting Sammy out of his outer shirt and jeans and into his bed.

The drive through to DC the next day was much more relaxed than the previous day. Without Sam sulking in the back, the boys bickered over the radio, played car games like when they were kids, and John made sure that his oldest ate just as many grapes as he did pieces of the salt water taffy they picked up at a rest stop.

All in all, they spent five full happy days in DC.

Sam ran them ragged from one museum to the other. John and Dean trailing behind like obedient puppies while their youngest never stopped once to draw breath as he gave them detailed guided tours to every exhibit.

Besides most of the different buildings of the Smithsonian, and who knew there were that many museums that made up the entire complex, they toured The National Archives, Library of Congress, The National Portrait Gallery and the Capitol. John let Sam book a tour at the Supreme Court and his little boy just about lost his mind with excitement.

An indulgent brother, Dean finally drew the line at the National Postal Museum, because seriously, what the fuck was that about, but his green eyes went wide with excitement when John led his boys to the International Spy Museum.

They walked the Tidal Basin, a shower of Cherry Blossom petals swirling in the air on a perfect spring day. A relaxing easy stroll along the Mall, where Lincoln sat in welcome to them.

John spent the entire trip just watching his boys.

Sammy's extensive knowledge of everything they had seen simply floored the proud father, and the way Dean busted his ass to let his little brother run the show humbled John in a million different ways.

Happy, carefree and acting years younger without the enormous weights on their shoulders that he himself had placed throughout their lives. They laughed and bickered. Playfully shoving each other and racing from one place like high spirited young colts.

In truth, the only down spot to the entire trip came from John's own foolish compulsion that had him seeking out the names of his fallen brothers at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. Painfully remembering the kind and decent young men that had not had the fortune to come home, and the survivor's guilt brought John to his knees, grief overwhelming him, until finally it was his own kids that grounded him back to reality.

Wordlessly offering comfort as they bookended him for the walk back to their hotel. Warm, strong and sturdy young men allowing him to borrow their strength, shoulder to shoulder. Both of an age to those on the wall, and John's heart thudded in terror when his depressed mind strayed to the dark and petrifying thoughts of losing his children.

The boys don't speak about his weakness in the face of such loss, even though he has chastised them over and over again for allowing their emotions to dictate their actions.

He just held tightly to his kids, flooded with gratitude that he had been allowed to make it back home in one piece, when so many of his friends had not. Allowed to make it back home safe and sound, and able to go on to father these two extraordinary boys who filled him with so much pride and joy.

John took his sons to eat blue crabs, expertly showing them how to break the shells without getting pieces flying in their eyes. They hit a half dozen different ethnic restaurants that made Sammy's eyes pop because he loved trying new things. But Dean wasn't forgotten either, and when John led them to the Hard Rock Cafe, his firstborn thought he had found heaven between all the memorabilia and the thick cheeseburgers.

On their last night in town, he declared an early rack time for them all, surprised when not even Sam protested. John's youngest had been riding high on Cloud Nine for days and the boy was easy going and compliant, even though his father was sure that the kid would have liked one more night on the town.

John grabbed the car keys to go out, and promised them a real treat for dinner. Dean talked his little brother into spending time watching the non-porn good Pay Per View, because their adjoining rooms were in an even more upscale hotel than the place in Indiana had been. Sam pounced on the chance to see The Tailor of Panama, and John left quickly, comforted in the knowledge that his kids would be occupied until his return.

/

His directions were very good, and his own sense of direction even better than the written words on the paper he had kept hidden in his wallet for the past week and a half. It only took a little over twenty minutes before the Impala rolled into a combined residential and bustling commercial neighborhood in the northeast section.

John parked the car, praying that nothing happened to her while he was inside the deceptively normal looking house, because Dean would lose his mind if his father brought her back with even the tiniest of scratches. Quite the role reversal from a time when his son would be the one under the gun for damage to her.

He had the appropriate words to identify himself as a player in the big leagues of the occult world, and the wizened old woman who stood guard at the door allowed him inside with the barest of disapproving sniffs.

While the house seemed like a regular single family home to the casual observer, John was shown down a hall and through a hidden door leading to the basement where Papa Jacques plied his trade only to those with a firm grasp on the power of real hoodoo.

The room itself was brimming with the usual mystical and slightly revolting trappings of the base of operations for a real deal Voodoo witch doctor. The only light was provided by a handful of flickering candles, but John wasn't intimidated or dissuaded into backing off. He could barely see a few feet in front of him where an enormous man in a simple white shift and black pants was kneeling on the ground and murmuring quietly.

Senses on high alert as he surveyed his surroundings, he was almost startled when the man spoke.

"John Winchester," Papa Jacques intoned deeply, not turning around. "Your name is known. A man with many enemies on the other side."

John smiled scarily and scoffed.

"I have that effect on people."

There was a tense moment of quiet between them before the man spoke again.

"One could find themselves courting displeasure for doing business with a man such as you."

John laughed coldly, pushing back the urge to shoot the guy on principle alone.

"I'm sure you can handle yourself. Especially once you have what I brought."

A hearty laugh now rang out from the kneeling man, and he finally got to his feet and turned around. The complete absence of his eyes shook John for the briefest of seconds before he managed to regain his composure.

With surprising agility, Papa Jacques strode over to exactly where John was standing, and he expectantly held out a thick meaty hand.

"If you don't mind," he said cordially.

"You first," John said confidently, standing his ground, not giving a fraction of an inch.

Papa Jacques regarding John for the briefest of seconds, as well as a seemingly blind person could anyway, before he smiled a broad, chilling smile. He reached somewhere behind him, although there was nothing there but empty air, and when his hand came forward, he held a roll of what John suspected was words written on human skin.

"Ready to face the Devil, John Winchester?"

John sneered, pulling a necklace out of his own pocket and thinking only of his son.

"Always."

For a few tense moments, there was an exchange of disconcerting information. A dance of power between two men deep in The Life. The obligatory warnings of consequences.

An argument. A rebuff. A resignation.

In the end, John left with what he came for. One very rare talisman poorer, that he had spent the previous six months trading up the occult ladder to acquire. One summoning ritual closer to the last stage of the quest he had steered the past seventeen and a half years of his life towards.

As well as a growing fear deep in the pit of his stomach over the knowledge that more and more in the dark belly of the magical underworld were beginning to take notice of the maelstrom of impeding evil that John's child was smack in the middle of.

/

The boys were more than halfway through the movie by the time he made it back to the hotel. They paused it long enough to dive into the take out bags of food he picked up at the tiny local Haitian restaurant a block away from Papa Jacques' place. Thrilled beyond measure that the sheer intimidation factor of the Impala had apparently warded off any would-be vandals.

They grabbed containers of fried goat and red snapper. Rice, black beans and pickled slaw and rum cake. Deciding to eat on their beds as the movie played, because even though it was early, they were all a little tired. Dean sniffed derisively at the goat. Taking a tentative bite and then pouncing on the rest like he hadn't eaten a full meal in weeks.

Needing to be close to his youngest after the disturbing and tense negotiations with Papa Jacques, John climbed on the bed next to Sam, happy when his normally standoffish boy didn't protest, and father and son ate their spicy meals together, sitting with their backs pressed against the headboard, and a companionable comfort between them.

John consented to the additional purchase of 3000 Miles to Graceland, because he was a sucker for anything Elvis Presley. Before the movie was even a third of the way through, Sammy had fallen asleep, his mop of chestnut curls flopping on his father's shoulder.

Like he did when he was just a tiny cuddly little thing, and no place was more safe and secure than his dad.

John was exhausted, but it would have taken an act of God to make him move when his little boy was comfortably warm and slumbering against him.

Dean smiled at them both. Clearly content with the tension free days they had passed together. Enjoying his family and genuinely happy. He darted into John's room and grabbed all the extra pillows from the bed, carefully helping his father prop them behind his back to keep it from protesting and seizing up later. John laid one against his chest and painstakingly shifted Sammy so that he was laying on it in a much better position.

In his sleep, Sam sighed contentedly, and John carded his fingers through his son's wild tumble of curls, trying to keep his hands from shaking. If Dean noticed his father's unease, he kept quiet about it, and the two of them pretended to watch the rest of the movie.

/

After the long trip back, John let his kids sleep in the next morning. Running on his own to quiet the demons in his mind screaming at him relentlessly. He was surprised to find them both in the kitchen on his return. They were smiling, but looked decidedly nervous, and John threw them both a questioning look while they fidgeted at the table.

Without too much of a preamble, Sammy slowly slid a thick pile of paper in John's direction, and the floor fell completely out from under him.

/

Between the two brothers, they carefully outlined the entire plan before their uncharacteristically quiet father.

Pointing out the pros of having Sam kept safe in a well warded home. Conveniently available for all of their researching needs, and the added bonus of regular additions as a second back up for the more dangerous hunts. Reminding Dad that Sammy had a car of his own and could meet them easily without one of them needing to fetch him back and forth. Another vehicle to run errands and carry more of an arsenal.

Sam was enthusiastic and respectful.

He took tremendous pains to decree his ready willingness to continue to defer to John's rules and authority over every aspect of his life going forward. He pleaded a soulful and genuine case for his father to see how much his younger son needed this chance to go out on his own and spread his wings a little. Sam also was quick to point out how his emerging financial independence would ease the monetary burden on the family and, in fact, make it easier on all of them.

Sam begged his father to see the breadth of his accomplishments, earnestly detailing how hard he had worked over the years to position himself as someone worthy for the world of academia to give him a resounding welcome with scholarships and stipends and accolades. He could have sworn, just for a moment, that a flash of pride flickered in John's eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it had come.

For Dean's part, he stood shoulder to shoulder with his brother.

Reasonable and eloquent as always, as he made a case that Sam would be more of an asset in Sioux Falls than he might be on the job. Pointing out that they rarely took a case that required all three of them together. That John had successfully hunted on his own for years, and now that Sam was old enough to live more or less on his own, Dean could finally hunt at his father's side full time, with Sam joining them on the harder jobs as needed.

They would only be a phone call away from each other, Dean stated rationally.

With Sam's financial aid covering the cost of the house, they would still have a home base, saving on money for excess motel rooms and laundry. Bobby was literally minutes down the street from the youngest Winchester. Ready, willing and able to step in if the kid needed immediate assistance until his father and brother could get to him.

It all sounded perfectly agreeable, even to Dean's less than enthusiastic mental comfort. John had been silent throughout the entire presentation, and his lack of reaction might have easily been mistaken for positive contemplation and grudging acceptance. Holding the sheets of the acceptance letters in his hand, he looked slowly from one son to the other.

The boys were pressed against each others' arms, steadfast and straight, side by side, as they leaned against the kitchen counter. Dean's face was placid, military smooth and obedient, although there was a hint of pleading in the dark green pools of his eyes. By his side, John could almost see the vibration of happy excitement thrumming in his youngest, Sammy seconds away from bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Strangely, John's first thought was wondering if it was possible to be so incredibly angry that he couldn't even yell at his kids. That an all consuming, all engulfing rage was so powerful that it looped back around to calm and silence. Because that is exactly what he was feeling at the moment.

As casually as if he were making a sandwich, John stood up with the paperwork in his hand and walked over to the drawer next to the sink. He grabbed a small container of lighter fluid that he knew Dean kept in there and put the papers directly into the sink and then sprayed a liberal amount of the fluid over them, soaking them thoroughly.

"Dad?" Sam called out, panicked and confused as he ran over to his father. "What are you doing? Dad! Stop! Please. Don't"

Dean added his own protests, even as their father's face turned cold with fury.

"This is all your fault," he growled at Dean, pointing an accusing finger in his firstborn's direction. "I listened to you, when you assured me that he just needed some time away to get his head on straight. I trusted you! And look where that got us!"

John turned back to his youngest while he pulled a book of matches from his pocket. Glaring dangerously, he shoved them in Sam's direction.

"You are going to burn these, and that's going to be an end to this discussion. Do you understand, Samuel?"

Sam backed away from his father, shaking his head pitifully and swallowing hard as his chest heaved. Dean pushed himself away from the counter and inserted himself between his father and brother, holding up a placating hand.

"Dad. Please. Don't do this. Please try to understand how important this is to him," he begged. "We can make it work, Dad. I swear. It'll all be okay. I promise he'll be safe here, no matter what I have to do. Please."

For only the second time in Dean's life, John grabbed him in anger by the front of his shirt, roughly yanking his firstborn out of the way and pushing him off to the side. Fury pulsing through his veins, he wrapped a tight fist around Sam's wrist, choosing to ignore the small cry of pain that came from his son, and yanked Sam back to the sink. Holding his youngest in a firm grip, he forcefully slapped the matches in Sam's left hand.

"Get this through your head, Samuel. You...Are...Not...Going!" John barked, releasing Sam's wrist just long enough to grab his son by the back of the shirt and push him even closer to the sink.

"Burn them. Right the fuck now. That's an order."

Against his will, tears were starting to fall down Sam's cheeks as he stood shaking at the sink. His dad's grip on his shirt was pressing Sam right up against the sink's rim, and Sam knew that his father's strength was superior to his own, so he didn't even try to push back.

"Dad, please don't make me do this. Please. I'm begging you."

Dean warily approached his father and tentatively reached out to physically pull John back an inch or two. While Dad might think he was only restraining Sam, Dean could see that the insistent hold was actually paining his little brother.

"Dad," he tried quietly. "C'mon. Let's just all calm down a little."

John shook Dean's hands off of him and sharply pushed Dean aside a second time, stunning his son with the ferociousness of the shove.

"Stand...the fuck...down, Dean," John hissed, eyes snapping dangerously. "You've done enough here, already. I am Sam's father, and he will do as I say. Period."

Turning back to Sam, John gave him another insistent push.

"You've got two second to light those matches, or this is getting a whole lot messier," he warned, hissing into Sam's ear.

Sam was shaking uncontrollably by the point. A combination of anger, sadness and fear shooting like sparks through his entire body. Bereft by the loss of the warm relationship he had experienced with his dad during the trip, and the cold rejection of the compromises that he had so carefully crafted.

Completely and utterly wrecked by his father's callous disregard for his desires and accomplishments, and seething with rage over the way his brother had been cruelly chastised and discarded.

Every fiber in him wanted to get right up in his father's face, tell the man off and possibly throw a punch, but then he heard a quiet voice from behind them. Desperate and soothing enough to compel him to comply.

"Sammy. Do it, kiddo," Dean whispered shakily. "They're just papers."

Sam shook with an engulfing flood of emotions boiling through him, as he struggled to reign in his darker reactions before his relationship with his father was completely obliterated.

Dean was right.

Dad could force him to burn the evidence of Sam's triumphs and approvals, but he couldn't erase them from existence. No John Winchester salt and burn would exorcise the fact that Sam went after what he wanted and got it.

With a trembling hand, Sam forced himself to set the whole book alight, hesitating for the briefest of seconds before he tossed it on the well soaked pages, and then leaning back slightly against his father's grip as flames licked up towards him.

He closed his eyes and tried to compose himself. Making his peace that the tentative truce he convinced himself had been forged between himself and his father was merely a product of a hopeful imagination of a son who only wanted his father's approval and pride.

Only to find out that he would never actually receive either.

Behind him, he could feel his dad slightly relaxing his grip as the tension level in the room collectively lowered. But it was only the calm in the center of a storm.

Able to move a little more freely, Sam slowly turned around and shot daggers at his father's face.

"It didn't have to be this way, Dad," he said sadly, shaking his head and forcing himself to speak more bravely than he felt. "I would have held up my end of the bargain."

Hot fiery ire began to burn it's way back up Sam's throat and a red haze descended over his vision as his entire body trembled.

"Just once, you could have given more of a shit about the happiness of your living son," he seethed, hostility at the boiling point, "Just for once, over the revenge for your dead wife."

Like a cobra strike, John drew his arm back and delivered an almighty smack to his son's left cheek. The force rocked Sam back, and he heard Dean's sharp intake of breath behind him. Whether it was over the slap or Sam's disrespectful invocation of their mother's memory, he didn't know.

"That is your mother, you're talking about, Samuel," John hissed angrily.

Sam didn't palm his stinging cheek, shock making his eyes blink and tear up, unwilling to give his father the satisfaction of knowing how much it had hurt. Not physically, because Sam was used to more pain from training, but emotionally, because Dad had never, ever struck either of his sons like that before.

Across from him, John took in a sharp breath, barely able to comprehend the fact that he had just slapped his kid in the face.

He couldn't deny it.

The entire left side of Sam's face was flushed pink with John's hand print and his son's little hazel doe eyes were flooded with tears and hurt. A wave of bile crested John's throat for a few brief seconds before he reached out for his boy, only to have Sam shrink back away.

The rebuff stung, but John knew he deserved it.

Things were spinning wildly off the rails in his world. If there was one thing John hated, it was feeling totally out of control when it came to his kids.

The boys had no true idea of the depths that he had gone to in his bid to keep them safely hidden from the evil that had plagued their lives. Yes, he made them hunt, in an effort to toughen them up and make them strong, but he had always shielded them from the boss fights.

Always.

This past year, while obviously beneficial to his kids' mental well being, had been hell on earth for a desperately worried father that fretted over the greater than usual vulnerability.

John had practically run himself ragged darting from job to home to job to home, always striving for more information. More of an edge. More tools on his belt for the prize fight. More experience. Building more of a fearsome reputation, so that the dark underworld would think twice about going after his boys.

Always more.

And more and more and more until this nightmare was over.

Sammy simply couldn't be left behind on his own.

Too many outside factors to worry about. Too much potentially dangerous influence that could come from any banal interaction. John needed to keep his kid close. Needed to keep a sharp eye on his son so that nothing sneaked up on them in the dark of night and led Sammy down the wrong path.

John's youngest didn't understand this right now, and John himself had made the terrifying decision to keep the truth from Sam to avoid inadvertently causing a chain reaction that would lead to the blood curdling future that the demon underworld kept predicting for his kid. The very one Papa Jacques assured him was coming and coming fast.

So John would play the part of the asshole dictator father a little longer, and someday, hopefully, Sammy would forgive him.

"Sammy," he tried, reaching again for his boy who now had tears streaming down hot flushed cheeks.

Sam sniffed, swallowed hard and shifted back even further as he wiped his face and pinned John with a look of pure hatred.

"Go to hell, Dad," he spat out, his voice shaky and watery and hurt, before turning on his heel and striding for the stairs.

John sighed as Dean shook his head sadly, and the weary father could see the shaken faith in the eyes of his firstborn before he too headed for the stairs.

Dropping boneless in one of the kitchen chairs, John leaned forward and rubbed his face with both hands, massaging his aching temples.

"Yeah, mostly likely I will," he said quietly to no one.

/

Dean didn't even bother knocking on Sam's door. He just walked right in, knowing how badly his kid brother was hurting at the moment. Not surprised to find Sammy lying on his side on the bed, determinedly facing away from the door.

Dean crossed the room, stood at the edge of the bed and waited.

Sure enough, Sam inched over slightly, a silent granting of permission to join him, and the worried big brother toed off his boots and climbed on. Sam didn't move further away or any closer as his brother lay down on his back, arms crossed behind his head. Dean didn't shift any nearer, even though he could tell by the steady shaking of Sammy's thin frame that the younger boy was silently crying.

Reaching out, he gently rubbed Sam's shivering back, desperately attempting to give his kid some comfort, and hating himself that he hadn't delivered on the promise he made his little brother.

Not yet, anyway.

"It's okay, Sammy," he soothed, already forming a plan in his mind. "We're gonna figure this out, I promise. You and me, kiddo. Together."

And Sam simply cried harder, because, while he dearly wanted to, he just couldn't make himself believe.