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.

13. May 2001

A/N Thanks to all of you who took the time to read the previous chapter, and especially the ones that took the time to review. I apologize for the delay. This chapter did not want to be written! Maybe because there is so much drama coming up in future chapters, and I was hoping to give you all at least a quick angst break! More or less fluff this month.

/

Almost eight months, and Dean still wasn't comfortable among the suburban soccer moms pushing their squeaky wheeled carts through the aisles of the local market.

Not like he could get away with not shopping.

When you have a ginormous kid brother that ate like a linebacker and yet never seemed to gain any weight for his efforts, it was a pretty sure guarantee that food was going to have to be purchased.

Often.

In increasingly large quantities.

It was worse during his current visit than usual. On the first of any given month, the store would be positively swollen with the ranks of those on fixed incomes who would have received their monthly checks. Today especially, it seemed like the entirety of the Sioux Falls Area Annoying Shoppers Club was out in full force, shoving and jockeying for whatever happened to be advertised as a good bargain in the new store flier.

Dean generally steered clear of the supermarket for the first few days of a month just for that reason alone, not being a particularly social creature when there weren't beers to be had or pretty ladies to flirt with.

He'd been working late hours to make up for the week away in DC, and now they were down to only toast and half a box of nearly stale blueberry Pop Tarts, which were not even in Sammy's top three flavors, as the only choices for breakfast. So a trip to the market had definitely been required before his kid brother drove him crazy.

No one wanted to start their morning listening to a hungry, cranky Sammy huff and crab over the absence of melon, yogurt, only the organic kind please, and tree hugging hippy granola in their lives.

Why they had picked up a box of toaster pastry that neither of them liked in the first place was still mystery. Dean could only guess that it was the result of what happens when two guys shopped without making sure they ate a good meal before they went to the store. You tend to pick up the weirdest things when you're late making dinner and desperate to get through the grocery chore as quickly as possible.

Tomorrow was Sammy's eighteenth birthday, and besides all the food required for the birthday barbecue he was making for his little brother's study group, Dean needed to make sure he picked up the requisite Little Debbie Swiss Roll, or the entire day would be ruined before it even started.

Although, to be perfectly honest, the day was probably already ruined.

Regardless of whether or not Dean brought home the pathetically inadequate mass produced confection that, while now traditional, still sometimes painfully served as a reminder of the jacked up way the Winchester boys had been forced to celebrate their advancing ages in cold, impersonal, sometimes relatively skeevy motel rooms.

In more recent years, it was a subtle in-joke.

Able to be looked at with a semblance of dark humor, and almost fond nostalgia, since their financial situation was drastically improved as they got older and the abject poverty they had often existed in became less pronounced. Tomorrow, in the aftermath of the enormous fight between John and Sam, it would just be another check mark in the negative column of all of their father's personal failings in the mind of his youngest son.

And Dad really didn't need any assistance in looking bad in Sam's eyes these days.

Reluctantly, Dean steered his own cart in the direction of the snack food aisle. The rear left wheel frustratingly insisted on frequently skipping and sliding from some random, unidentifiable gray blob sticking to the rubber. It made the navigation through the crowds even more annoying and tedious than it already was, and that was definitely saying something.

Unfortunately, the basket was also already a third full, and he was simply too irritated and too tired to swap it out with another that probably also had some kind of malicious and obviously intentional speed or coordination defect.

Did Dean mention that he hated shopping?

To his dismay, the snack aisle was absolutely clogged with slow moving shoppers, plodding their way along as if there was no one else behind them.

Parking their carts dead center among the throng as they ambled and selfishly blocked entire sections of the shelves. Minutely scrutinizing the ingredients and prices of items that they surely bought on a regular basis, as if suddenly their favorite flavor of potato chip might miraculously turn out to be healthy after all, or increase exactly one cent in cost that would mentally throw them over the ledge just on principle alone.

Dean hated that kind of recreational shopper.

He certainly didn't have time in his day to obsess that deeply over something that was going to be a part of his life for the few hours it took to digest it.

Dean was more of an attack shopper. Preferring to treat the supermarket like any other hunt.

Happy to just get in, get it done and get back out before the sun set.

You know, like the way shopping should be done!

If that meant that he might have to shoot something along the way, well, that was okay too.

Somehow he managed to wend his way towards the shelf with the obscenely large selection of snack cakes, slipping into the tiniest of openings between a harried mother of three kids jammed into her cart, all wailing out their personal preferences for sweets in ear piercing decibels, and an angry looking man that, honestly, should consider spending more time in the produce section.

With the subtlest of body checks to angry dude, he grabbed the box of Little Debbie and extricated himself as quickly as possible.

Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed the list that Sam had insisted on him making for this specific trip.

Always methodical and prepared was Dean's little brother.

Lists and schedules and graphs and charts, the adorable little nerd. Except when it came to grocery shopping, because normally Sammy didn't want to waste time buying food when he could be studying The History of Early American Cabinet Making, or some other shit.

So generally, it was Dean alone in the store and he wasn't nearly as particular as his younger sibling.

But not today.

Whereas Dean would just usually grab the comfortable and familiar, the birthday boy had very specific requests for tomorrow's barbecue.

And that was fine.

Dean was more than happy to get his kid brother whatever it took to make Sam smile. Because smiles were rare on the youngest Winchester lately, and Dean positively demanded that turning eighteen entitled his kid to anything that Sam wanted if it was in Dean's power to give.

The offer of a brothers only road trip to Chicago had already been turned down, even though Sam had mentioned on several occasions that he wanted to visit without being on a job, because tomorrow was a school day, and there was some kind of test to take, or a project due, or some other kind of geek boy issue or another.

Whatever it was, Sam was determined not to play hooky, and Dean was going to respect that.

It didn't mean that the kid wasn't getting a special celebration.

Even if Sam had been less than enthusiastic about turning a milestone year, dulling down his already low tolerance for holidays and special events to new bottom-of-the-barrel scraping levels of disinterest and apathy.

Everyone's nerves were still pretty raw from the blowout with Dad.

Not that their father's negative reaction was necessarily a surprise to either of the brothers, if the truth were to be told. John Winchester didn't like to have even the smallest of surprises sprung on him by his children about the most mundane of topics. Let alone something as life altering as Sam's departure from a full time immersion in The Life. Dean couldn't say with any degree of honesty that he had ever expected his father to handle the news with any sort of calm and rational reaction.

Yes, it had been much worse than the older brother anticipated, and that was definitely saying a lot.

Yes, it had strained the relationship between oldest and youngest Winchester, right to the breaking point, even more than could be expected.

Yes, Dean had been completely floored that Dad had lost his cool enough to give Sam the reactionary slap, because their father never hit his boys like that.

Ever.

John had been known to take out his anger and frustration on monsters, motel room furniture and even certain lecherous humans that had taken a decidedly unhealthy interest in one of his kids. The hard pavement under his feet as he ran, hell bent for leather, to work off a head of steam. The packed, unyielding dirt of a graveyard, as he dug for bones. Occasionally even old wrecks in the salvage yard with a tire iron.

But never his kids.

Some, with a differing viewpoint on child rearing, might try to make the argument that a round with his father's belt was, in fact, getting hit, but Dean wasn't going to engage in the semantics over the differences between punishment and abuse.

He and Sammy knew perfectly well where the lines of acceptable behavior were drawn, and what the consequences of stepping over those lines were. As judgmental and derisive as his little brother was, even Sammy would grudgingly admit that he had earned every lick he had received over the years.

Getting your ass smacked for being a disobedient brat was a given in their home. Dad was fighting a full time war against real evil, and he didn't have the luxury of time to nitpick over progressive parenting techniques when his lessons needed to be learned fast and sure by two boys that were as stubborn and hard headed as he was, but still needed to unfailingly obey him because all too often they were in life or death situations.

Sam also knew better than to bring Mom up in heated conversation. That was the one topic guaranteed to make Dad see red.

Every time.

Regardless of whether or not Sam had a legitimate point, invoking Mom's name was a cheap shot, and Dean was still annoyed himself over it.

Sam had crossed a line that he knew better than to cross. Sure the kid had been understandably upset and hurt and frustrated, but that was no excuse to be caustically flippant about their mom's death. Dean might have taken a swing at his brother himself, if he had been the one standing there.

In fact, Dean had punched his brother in a fit of anger back in Elko, so he didn't have any moral high ground to stand on and judge his father's actions any more harshly than his own had been. He was, however, perfectly willing to fully admit that he and Dad had both been wrong in the way they had acted towards their youngest.

All three of the Winchesters had hot tempers on occasion, and fights between the brothers had become physical sometimes, but Dad had always been able to maintain his calm before this last bout. Sam wasn't brash enough, or disrespectful enough, to take a swing at Dad in the literal sense, but his words had been just as sharp and painful as his father's hand had been to him.

Dean knew his father better than anyone. Dad had been immediately wrecked after lashing out at Sammy like that. His remorse and regret instantaneous and sincere. John wasn't about to excuse his loss of control over his emotions, and he wasn't likely to ever forgive himself for it either.

In fact, Dad had genuinely apologized to Sam for the slap later that day. Twice. An unprecedented level of remorse in their world, but Sam was holding tight to his anger and hurt like they were prized possessions.

Because Dad was sorry about smacking Sam, but he also was certainly not going to apologize for putting an end to any ideas Sam had about going off to school. That was what Sammy couldn't understand about their fight. Little brother was wrapping the entire incident into one big package of pain and disappointment instead of understanding the sum of its parts.

And it was preventing Sam from admitting any culpability of his own in the mess.

After one very uncomfortable day together, John had taken off again, leaving unresolved issues and a seething son behind. Of course, Dean knew that, to their father anyway, the issue of Sammy's academic future was, in fact, resolved, whether or not Sam could accept that.

It had been a shame really, because their vacation together had been truly wonderful. Something that should have been a happy memory that could be looked back upon in later years with affection and fondness. Now it would only serve to remind them all as being the precursor to the biggest fight John and Sam ever had to date.

The whole week had obviously been so important to Dad, even though he hadn't given any clear reasons why, but that didn't mean that Dean didn't see it on his father's face anytime he looked at John when the older man didn't realize he was being studied. The way he was truly happy and relaxed for the first time ever in recent years of memory. Where his forehead wasn't creased with worry lines over the next job or eyes bleary from lack of sleep or too much tequila.

There was a peace about John that hadn't shown itself in years, since their time by the seaside in Delaware. Dean wasn't sure why his father hadn't seemed to remember that the DC trip wasn't really the first vacation the Winchesters had ever taken. Maybe because it was the first one where John and Dean didn't talk about the family business at all, but it definitely wasn't the only time they had spent lazy tranquil days together.

/

When Dean was eleven years old, and Sam, a very tiny seven, Dad had done a poltergeist job in Delaware, right outside of Dover, for a corporate executive of a large pharmaceutical company.

For whatever reason, it had attached itself to the man's twelve year old son. With an animal's primal savagery, attacking, ripping and tearing at the terrified kid right in front of his helpless parents relentlessly for days before their parish priest reached out in desperation to Jim Murphy, who, in turn, called John.

It was bad enough that the Winchesters actually left the potential job John was investigating in Poughkeepsie, New York. Dropping everything and running, tear assing his way to the family house at breakneck speeds for the four hour trip, John swiftly and expertly purified the house and torched the thing before the boy could be gruesomely murdered while his family watched.

Although the boy was horrendously scarred, he made it out breathing and in one piece, and the wealthy family had been so incredibly grateful that they became one of the few lucky beneficiaries of the special talents of the Winchester family that actually compensated John for his efforts.

For the first time in a long time, John and his kids weren't struggling hand to mouth. The boys were bought new clothes and toys, including Dean's first Walkman. As well as necessary additions to the family arsenal and cash set aside for a nicer apartment for the start of the school year in a few weeks. For quite a while afterwards, John didn't have to hustle to put food on the table, and fun excursions between jobs were more frequent.

But it wasn't the monetary reward that Dean remembered most.

The executive also had a waterfront cottage on Rohoboth Beach, and he very generously offered the use of it to John and his kids for a couple of weeks until Labor Day weekend, when his annual family reunion would be taking place. An extra special reunion this year, considering that his son was still alive to participate in it thanks to John.

Although the property was in full view of the ocean, the boys weren't allowed on the beach because the riptides were strong and crowds were thick. Tourist season was in full swing and there was a steady mob of people constantly milling about. John wasn't risking his sons' safety among so many strangers.

It also wasn't often that they had a chance to stay in a place with a pool, because their usual brand of laugh and scratch motels rarely invested the necessary funds to build or maintain one. Sammy hadn't even learned to swim yet, with Dad too busy to teach him like he had with Dean before the fire.

Fortunately for them, there was a good sized one in the backyard of the cottage, and when John wasn't deeply engrossed in scribbling new entries into his journal, he'd go outside with his sons and let Dean splash around with wild abandon, while he himself patiently taught his seven year old all about swimming and water safety.

Taking another job at the time was out of the question. Bobby had arranged for another hunter to follow up in Poughkeepsie, which actually wasn't a job at all. Just a jealous ex-husband that was getting his kicks from tormenting the woman that had left him. John's encounter with the severely scarred poltergeist victim stimulated his protective father instinct into overdrive, and he just needed some real down time to assure himself that Sam and Dean were safe and healthy.

Dean remembers the weather during those weeks being absolutely beautiful. The warmth of the late summer sun and freshness in the air of approaching autumn. As the days slowly passed, all three Winchesters took a much needed breath.

Dad would work outside, when he wasn't giving Sammy lessons, sheltered under an umbrella spreading out over the patio table as he scratched out notes on the poltergeist. Keeping an ever sharp eye out while the boys played in the pool. Dean doing cannonballs with the gleeful abandon of a high spirited boy and playfully splashing Sam dog paddling in water wings. Bare arms and legs browning as they tanned, and flecks of gold shimmering in Dean's hair as his freckles darkened.

In the late afternoons they would stroll down the boardwalk.

The boys had been awed by the variety of shops selling a million things and, for once, they had money to buy. Dad had taken some of the reward cash and bought them real summer clothes instead of their usual sturdy hunter togs. Colorful novelty t-shirts and shorts, taking the place of second hand neutrals and faded jeans, along with new swimming trunks.

As they ambled their way down the sea salted and sun battered parquet planks of the boardwalk, Dean would run just enough ahead of them to make Dad slightly nervous, as Sammy strained to pull his little hand out of the tight security of his father's own. Always desperate for more freedom and independence, and wanting to keep up with his brother. John didn't budge, barking out the occasional warning that brought his mischievous eleven year old meekly back to his side, and keeping an iron clad grip on his seven year old at all times.

Dad was rarely that clingy with them, so the boys didn't fuss too much about the overt attention, and the steady stream of vacationers, loud and gawking, sometimes frightened the very timid and shy Sammy anyway.

Every visit to the boardwalk included time at Funland, and Dad would buy long strips of ridiculously cheap tickets for the old fashioned rides.

Brightly painted horses on carousals and little boats and fire engines spinning around and around, with smiling children and squeals of glee. Some rides Dad would have to go on with them, because Sammy was still small and needed his father's arm around him to keep the little boy feeling secure. The Paratrooper and The Helicopters were scary for an undersized seven year old, and even Dean needed John's comforting presence for the tumultuous swing of The Sea Dragon.

Dad was determined to have his boys face their fears, because it was important to their futures as hunters. If that meant frequently going on the rides that made their tummies clench in apprehensive anticipation, then that was what they were going to do.

Of course, it was fun too, so more of a win-win situation than normal training.

In the evenings, they would have dinner from one of the dozen take away places. It was here that Dean first experienced the best bacon cheeseburger he had ever eaten. The first time he had taken a bite, he swore he was in Heaven. To this day, it was still his favorite meal, and no other burger anywhere in their travels even came close to it.

It had since become his personal quest to find it's equal or better, resulting in his usual order at diners around the country. Dad had uncharacteristically indulged him with a burger every day during their time in Rohoboth, because there were lots of other choices nearby for John and Sam to try different things.

After dinner they would hit the arcade, and Dad would turn games into lessons on position, aiming and balance. Teaching Dean how to compensate for the intentional weighting of equipment meant to throw you off a little in the house's favor. Also choosing some electronic selections to brush up his boys' reflexes while they enjoyed playing video games.

Always careful with his wording, because Sammy still didn't know about the family business.

Dean must have won fifty prizes during their time there. Letting Sammy keep a few of his favorites for long drives in the Impala, and generously giving the rest to kids who weren't so fortunate in their gaming endeavors. The only upsetting thing being his frustrating inability to ever win enough points for the rainbow slinky he coveted.

Dad had indulgently offered to win one for him, because he could tell that particular game was really too hard even for John's talented kid, but it became a matter of pride to his firstborn, although they eventually left the area without one.

Each night ended with the family spending some time on the bumper cars. Dad and Sammy in one, and Dean in the other. Already in love with driving and speed, and only lamenting the lack of a black car option so he could pretend it was the Impala. Afterwards, they would stroll back to the cottage, snacking on buttered and salted grease paper bags of popcorn and candied almonds as the sea gulls followed them, hoping to snatch up whatever fell from the boys' hands.

They would stumble into their temporary home, tanned, tired and stuffed, and Dad would send them to wash up before he put them to bed early. They had never complained, because every day was joyous and carefree, with the promise of new adventures when morning dawned again, and John always saved his real work for the nighttime while his boys slept with dreams of salt water taffy, sunshine and cheeseburgers.

For some reason, Dad seemed to have forgotten about that blissful time in Rehoboth, and since happy, family times for the Winchesters were as rare as virgins in TJ, Dean found himself wondering why.

/

In the harshly lit bright florescence of the sprawling electronics store, John stood and rubbed the back of his neck.

Uncharacteristically uncomfortable and uncertain, he let his eyes sweep around the computer department, without the tiniest clue of where he should begin his search for the desperately needed olive branch to extend to his youngest son.

For a man that could easily find his way around an engine, the inner workings of new generation computers were still something of a mystery to him. With the stakes so high, he was worried that some sort of basic ignorance on his part would have him procuring a model that was completely inadequate for the idea he had rattling around in his head since his fight with Sammy over college.

It hadn't taken but a few moments afterwards for John's head to clear enough to realize how wildly he had overreacted, and how thoroughly he had destroyed all the positive memories he and his little boy had carefully built up during their vacation week together.

It was evident in his stinging palm and the hushed, unbelievably tense silence in the air weighing heavily on them all.

The accusatory full red flush of a father's painful slap to a young son's cheek.

After both of his sons had fled for an escape in the house that was anywhere but where their father was at the moment, John had sat at that empty kitchen table for over an hour just coming to terms with what had transpired. There had been no movement or sound from the upstairs during the entire miserable time John languished in silence on his own.

No steely faced and determined Sammy, face burning with righteous indignation, storming back down for a round two with an overbearing and domineering father that had summarily crushed his dreams.

No steady and loyal Dean, calm and placating, treading lightly to make peace and talk sense, or even to haltingly express a respectful condemnation of his father's actions.

Eventually John had pushed himself up and started to move, because there was nothing else he could do.

He wasn't going to force himself on his kids at the moment, knowing with absolute certainty that he wasn't planning on backing down from his earlier stance, regardless of what they tried to tag team him into agreeing to. Because it wasn't the decision he had made that had built up a curdling swell of regret bubbling inside him.

It was simply the method of delivery he had chosen to express it.

So he had gone over to the sink, ignoring the stabbing pain in his chest over the memory of Sammy's desperate pleading voice, so much younger than he normally sounded, and the iron clad grip John had clamped against his kid to force the boy to do his father's bidding. The burned papers were now nothing but hauntingly accusatory mounds of ash in the basin, and John was an expert at covering his tracks after a salt and burn. Making quick work of scooping the whole mess up and disposing of all the evidence into the trash, washing and scrubbing at the remains.

Not wanting either of his boys to catch a glimpse of the reminder of their father's hellish temper and the near total control he insisted on maintaining over them both.

And then he had laughed bitterly to himself, delusion making him think for a fraction of a second that his bright boys would somehow forget what had transpired that morning if there were no physical traces left to implicate John as being the dictator father that he had indeed exposed himself to be.

At ends with trying to keep himself occupied before he lost the last few fragments of his sanity, for a while he puttered.

Taking out the trash.

Sweeping the floors.

Tightening one of the locks on the back door that was just a tad more loose than John was comfortable with.

Cleaning out the fridge, because sometimes the boys would forget about leftovers from a few days prior, and John would come back to find containers of expired food approaching near science experiment levels of decay.

Then, as he pitched and threw away, he would inevitably have to push back the overwhelming fear over wondering if they allowed things to get that bad, either because having a regular sized refrigerator to fill and maintain was still a relatively novel concept, or worse because having enough food in the house for leftovers to sit uneaten was a new luxury in their lives.

Neither thought made him feel any more than the world's shittiest father.

In retrospect, cleaning out the fridge probably wasn't the best idea to have on that particular morning.

All it had done was remind John of the multitude of disappointments on his part over the years. Of every single time he had to struggle to make sure that his kids were fed.

His boys had always had food to eat. John had made sure of it no matter what he had needed to do, and sometimes what he needed to do took another strip off of himself for how low he had sunk from the respectable man he once had been. Cheating and stealing and conning his way through life.

Sometimes, though, it had been harder than others.

Living off the grid and hand to mouth got rough when life threw you curve balls, as it inevitably did.

Often.

Especially with two young boys and a hazardous job without pay or benefits that kept you on the road constantly.

John might think he had everything under control, but then the Impala would get a flat that couldn't be patched. Or Dean would get into a fight at school and have a tooth knocked loose that needed real dental care. Or Sammy would rip through the last thin layer of canvas and thread holding together Dean's hand-me-down sneakers and need a new pair.

Then, all of a sudden, the grocery money John had carefully set aside vanished into the thin air of desperation and auxiliary need. So he would hustle, if he could, but even the mighty John Winchester lost sometimes and would be forced to make his way, hat in hand, to the local food bank.

Pride had its limits when you had two small boys depending on you.

John's kids weren't spoiled. Not even a little bit. Something that might have made him proud if he didn't know that their lack of pretension stemmed from their lack of...well...just about everything else.

And that was on him.

He did that to his boys.

At least he knew that whatever he managed to bring home, his sons would willingly eat. John would eventually return with two paper bags full of donated food and unload the contents on their table of the week. Sammy might be excited to see new things he wanted to try, or he might be a little petulant that his father seemed to forget the items that the brothers preferred for their meals.

But John couldn't deceive himself about his firstborn.

Without ever mentioning it between them, John could see in Dean's eyes that his eldest son knew exactly where their groceries had come from, and why. The shamed father would watch as Dean, with a practiced confidence and indifference, easily distracted and deflected Sammy's comments and criticisms, already hyping up the positives so that his little brother wouldn't bother to dwell on the negatives.

And Dean never said one word that would chip away at John's already battered ego, or express understandable frustration over the dire straights the family occasionally found themselves due to John's obsession.

Never even once.

All of these memories battled in his mind as he had crouched down in front of the refrigerator of their little rented house and gave a take out container of Chinese food a tentative sniff. Finally making the choice to dump it out because John would rather be safe than sorry when it came to food poisoning and his kids. He'd be more than happy to replace it later for dinner if his sons had a sudden craving for lo mein.

Thinking about dinner had made him glance at his watch and realize that it was past noon, and with that realization came the reminder that the morning's unpleasantness meant that neither of his boys had eaten yet that day. Which only made John's guilt crank up another notch to a level that he wasn't even sure was possible considering how he already felt every day.

And then some kind of manic frenzy had taken him over.

A wild desperate need to cook for them and make sure that they were fed and healthy, because his paternal approval rating was dropping pretty low below his standard bar of absolute woeful inadequacy at the moment, which was truly saying something.

He knew, without needing to be told in so many words, that his kids were avoiding the first floor of the house like the plague because they knew he was still down there, and that knowledge cut him like a razor sharp knife to the gut. What he also knew was that his boys weren't going to go hungry on his watch if he could help it.

Dean usually kept a fairly well stocked kitchen. John had been more aggressive this past year than normal in his various methods of acquiring finances, determined to defray as much of the cost of their home as possible from the shoulders of his firstborn. In the past few months, it had been significantly more than just rent money that he had been giving Dean, and he was pleased to see how well his son was managing it.

It was easy to collect the fixings for the spaghetti and meat sauce that was John's specialty and favorite of his kids, and within fifteen minutes he had sauce bubbling and the air soaked in the pleasant aroma of sauteed beef, onions and garlic.

He had called up the stairs to his sons, twice, to summon them down to lunch.

His first attempt, posed as a question of You boys hungry? was completely ignored, and he grudgingly allowed it because he was pretty sure that he did deserve their disdain at the moment.

The second attempt, a little more insistent suggestion Boys you should eat something, was met by a muffled decline of interest from behind Sammy's bedroom door. From Dean.

Deciding the best tact was to keep treading lightly, he briefly returned to the kitchen. John didn't want to push them, and there was still some time left while the garlic toast was assembled, and cheese was melted, and plates were set on the table.

His third summons, less suggestion and more statement Lunch is on the table, was met by an even more firm refusal than before. From both boys.

By the time John issued the fourth Come down here and eat...NOW, clearly delivered as a command, he wasn't kidding around anymore.

In retrospect, it was the culmination of his own lingering anger, hurt feelings, remorse and terror, all combining with the anticipated emotional stew of pain, frustration and abject sadness of his two kids that finally led John to snap and bark out an order demanding their presence downstairs.

As if defaulting back into the status of their commanding officer was the best idea at the moment, when all he really wanted to do was be a loving dad feeding his surely hungry boys a decent meal.

Of course the order had worked, because John's orders were always obeyed, and his sons had sullenly descended the stairs and strode unwillingly towards the table. Neither of them really spoke to him, even as he tried to smile and make casual remarks while dishing up heavy plates of pasta and bread for his kids.

Dean stood rigid in a soldier's at ease position, eyes straight ahead and refusing to engage his father's own. Sammy, who clearly had been crying upstairs, standing shoulder to shoulder next to his brother, slightly taller but with a defeated slump to his posture, red and swollen eyes blinking rapidly, but with his jaw set in gritty determination.

John took a good hard look at his youngest. Stubborn and miserable, tottering on the long, thin spindly legs of a baby moose as his limbs continued to grow and stretch impossibly.

The sudden need to feed his skinny kid was overwhelming him at that moment, with a ferocity that he couldn't quite explain. It's not as if Sammy was starving. In the past week they had spent together, his youngest ate both his father and brother under the table.

Combined.

But the notion that his little boy had forgone consuming anything at all that day because his old man had shit all over his dreams was too much for John to take when he already felt like kicking his own ass.

He ordered them both to sit and then thrust the plates of pasta at them with a frenzied urgency that made them all decidedly uncomfortable. A further order to actually make them eat what was in front of them got obedient, although irritated, acquiescence from his firstborn.

Dean mechanically shoved forkfuls of twirled spaghetti into his mouth at a measured pace, eyes still facing forward as he gave forced one worded answers to his father's attempt at conversation. It took a significantly more insistence to win compliance from his youngest. Gingerly holding his fork in his slim fingers, Sam took miniscule tentative bites, each halting move grating against his father's already thin patience.

It was a strained meal to say the least.

John had apologized to Sammy for losing his temper and slapping him. Expressing true remorse and a fairly obvious degree of self loathing. Sam didn't verbally acknowledge his father's attempt to smooth things over, and at first John didn't push him to.

Unfortunately, John's increasing desperation to make peace with his kid, without backing down on his original and final decision on the matter of Sam going away to school, began to manifest itself in his insistence that his son eat his lunch with more vigor than the less than willing manner he currently was exhibiting.

The more John pushed, the less Sam put in his mouth.

The less Sam ate, the more upset Dean became, and John could see his firstborn gearing up to intercede if things got too hairy.

Which only irked John more, because this was a matter between himself and his youngest, causing him to unintentionally ramp up his commands to Sammy.

Promoting a vicious cycle of escalating tension that culminated in John refusing Sam's eventual increasingly stressful pleas to be excused from the table.

Which prompted Dean to try to convince his father to let Sam go back upstairs.

Making John even more insistent that his youngest stay where he was and finish his lunch.

Which only upped Sam's frantic need to escape, until finally the youngest Winchester bolted into the recently renovated first floor bathroom, where his father and brother overheard the loud pitiful sounds of Sammy vomiting up his father's lovingly assembled pasta.

Dean sat straight and tall at the table, eyes in front and jaw clenched, clearly waiting for his father's permission to attend to his little brother. Defeated and weary, John had finally given him a curt nod, allowing it, and he remained sitting alone at the table in abject shame and sorrow while his firstborn coaxed Sammy out of the bathroom and back up to his room.

John left that night, unable to face his children for a while under the crushing weight of how badly he had fucked things up between them, and although he occasionally called to check in with Dean, he hadn't seen either son since.

But tomorrow was Sammy's birthday. His eighteenth. The day that John's little boy claimed his first real step towards manhood. John was determined to make everything up to his son while there was still a chance to reforge a relationship between them that didn't solely hinge on Sam's ingrained obedience to his father's stringent commands.

Sammy was a smart kid.

So, so very smart that his knowledge and wit had taken John's breath away a million times over the years. Of course his scarily bright son wanted to go to college, and if you had told John seventeen and a half years ago that his youngest would earn scholarships for full rides and even an acceptance at Stanford, John would have been over the moon with pride.

Regardless of how he felt about his own highly educated father, because Sam was not Henry, and John felt confident that he had impressed on both of his kids how important family was, and how they needed to stick together above all else.

That meant that John couldn't let his son go off on his own when it was far too dangerous for Sammy to be in a position where he didn't have the constant protection of his father and older brother.

But it also didn't mean that a loving father wasn't willing to find a compromise, either.

Yes, John was still a novice in the rapidly developing world of computers and online resources, but even he knew that you could take classes over the internet these days for actual college degrees. Not that anything Sam could earn online would have a large prestige to it, but the kid didn't need to build an impressive resume.

If he just wanted to learn, Sam could do that no matter where the family went on their jobs around the country. All John had to do was make sure that his son had the equipment necessary to make it possible.

It wasn't like having computer resources wouldn't be also beneficial to their hunts either. In John's mind, he was about to make an investment in the futures of both his son and his quest.

He stood in the store until a helpful clerk took pity on him, and then he very carefully explained his needs. An hour later, after spending an absolute fortune that would have him back living in his truck once again when he was on the road, John walked out with a large shopping bag and a small sliver of hope.

/

It's just after midnight when Dean waltzes into Sam's bedroom without announcing himself.

Carrying a small plate with a single Swiss Roll, a candle burning in its center, and loudly singing a raucous version of Happy Birthday off key and with great theatrics.

Wiped out from track practice and long hours of studying, Sam had actually fallen asleep, even knowing that his rest would be interrupted this particular night.

Tiredly, Sam shifts under his blanket and pulls himself up to sit against the headboard. A huge smile on his face and rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he scoots over slightly to give his brother room. Balancing the plate, Dean flops next to him, and they sit side by side against the headboard as Sam leans over to blow out the candle.

The light streaming in from the hallway through the open door is casting shadows around the room as the brothers relax in a moment of companionable silence. Blinking in the dimness, Sam looks around and sees all the evidence of the home life they have created here and he smiles even wider, remembering that it was his birthday wish a year ago today that was the catalyst for this past wonderfully normal school year.

That, and the determination of a loving older brother that worked so hard to make it possible.

He reaches out to the plate and grabs the cake, discarding the spent candle and making the traditional split down the middle, before handing half to Dean. Feeling sleepy and affectionate, Sam grabs one of his pillows and jams it against Dean's shoulder and then leans over until he's resting snugly on it while he nibbles on his chocolate. Although he can't see Dean's smile, he knows that it's there all the same, and he can hear the warm indulgence in his big brother's voice.

"You gonna tell me what you wished for?"

Grinning, Sam shakes his head and licks at the cream in the center of the roll. "Nope. You have to guess this time."

He both hears and feels Dean laughing gently as his brother shifts slightly to make Sam's position more comfortable against him.

"I dunno, dude. I have a pretty active imagination," Dean teases as he eats. "You should think twice about wanting me to go there. You might find yourself in a room with triplets and latex."

"I'll take my chances," Sam replies easily, swallowing the last of his birthday treat. He chuckles and closes his eyes, content to just sit for a while.

There's no simple way to admit to Dean that Sam's greatest wish now is for peace in his family while still being able to follow his own dreams. Not just because, through all his hurt, he's still shamefully craving his father's approval and acceptance, without Sam having to commit the entirety of his life to the family crusade.

Especially since he knows that his big brother will break himself in half bending over backwards to accommodate Sam in any way he can, regardless of what it costs.

The past year has been the most incredible gift of Sam's life, and he's truly grateful and humble for the differences it has made. Like this easy rapport right now.

While the brothers have always been closer than most siblings, in ways that are too difficult to explain to others who can't comprehend the complex relationship that has developed from their unusual circumstances, it's only been the past months of living a regular domestic family life that has allowed for a less gruff and overly macho approach between them.

A real maturation of their brotherhood.

Where Dean is not nearly as reserved about giving and receiving hugs because, despite Sam's dark streak of anger, he's a still more of a sensitive soul that needs the comfort of affection from his family when he's feeling insecure.

Where Sam is less resentful of his brother's protectiveness and parental level care of him, because it's become abundantly clear in their new home environment that Dean looks after him because he genuinely wants to, and not just because Dad orders him to.

There hasn't been the constant worry and frenzy, or the frequent unease of a shy child always feeling cast out and freakish. In this house, they've been just a regular family, with neighbors and friends and a lawn that needs to be mowed, and furniture that only they have used. Pictures on the walls, stable daily schedules and good memories made.

It's almost everything that Sam has ever wanted, and he has his brother to thank for it.

Which is why he can't bring himself to ask for anything more.

"So, you're a full on adult now, kiddo," Dean says quietly. "And as your wiser, smarter, better looking elder, I want you to remember one very important thing."

Eyes still closed and feeling half asleep, Sam laughs softly. "Yeah? What's that?"

Dean waits half a heartbeat, clearing his throat and sighing deeply. Taking his time to find the right words, so that Sammy understands clearly.

"Doesn't matter how old you get, Sammy," he finally says. "Or where you are. I'm always gonna be your big brother, and I'm always gonna protect you and watch out for you."

Sam's eyes blink open as he sucks in a sharp quick breath, flooded with emotion over the earnestness and ferocity of his brother's words and promises. He knows what he means to Dean. Knows what Dean means to him in return. In the maelstrom of uncertainty and confusion that has been thundering around his brain recently, he's never once doubted his brother.

"I know," he responds, voice barely above a whisper. "Thanks for that."

And he means it. Because their brotherhood is what gives him the confidence he possesses to finally grow up. Able to strike out and make his way in the world knowing that he's never truly on his own.

Dean nods to himself, feeling a little better than he had earlier. He stretches just enough to set the empty plate on the night table next to him, not wanting to jostle Sam into moving away. He doesn't really care if they are neck deep in a chick flick moment right now or not, but he does clear his throat again to dislodge the accumulated sentiment that might give him away, because he can't let his little brother see him be weak.

"Okay, tough guy," he says, firmly implementing his usual sarcasm and bravado. "Now that you're all legal, am I gonna have to worry about you running around all night and going off the rails? Because if you are, tell me so I can start napping during the day and saving up for bail money."

From deep in the pillow on his shoulder, Dean hears the amused, throaty laughter of his kid brother, and he smiles.

"Nah. Don't worry," Sam assures him with humor in his voice. "I'll be a good boy and behave myself and keep obeying the Rules. I promise. Wouldn't wanna deprive you of the beauty sleep you desperately need."

"Hey!" Dean protests, delivering a soft kick to Sam's blanketed ankle. "I'm already pretty enough for the both of us, and you know it."

Sam laughs again and rolls his eyes, burrowing deeper into the pillow and feeling pretty sleepy and content.

"Dad'll be glad to hear that, anyways," Dean mutters, more to himself than to his brother.

"I don't care what Dad thinks anymore," Sam says quietly, with more than a hint of sadness and resignation.

Dean's head jerks up and he reaches over to push away the part of the pillow that was blocking him from seeing Sam's face.

"Hey, Sammy," he chastises gently. "Don't be like that, kiddo. Please?"

Sam's face is young and sorrowful as he huffs derisively and shakes his head, and Dean frowns because it's going to break his heart if his father and brother can't come to an understanding between them. Sammy may still be upset right now, but Dean's not going to tolerate the kid disrespecting Dad.

"I don't wanna fight," Sam says sincerely, knowing by the look on his brother's face what Dean is thinking, "but he's made it pretty clear that he doesn't care what I want."

"Sammy," Dean starts to protest, only to be stopped by Sam shaking his head and holding up a cautionary hand.

"It's fine, Dean, really," he insists. "I'm not gonna make any trouble for you with Dad while we're still living here. I'll keep my mouth shut when he's home, and I'll still do whatever you tell me to."

"Oh, really?" Dean snorts, playfully cocking an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Yeah," Sam replies quietly. "Because you're always gonna be my big brother, jerk."

There's honesty in Sam's voice when he says this, and undisguised affection in his eyes as he stares directly at Dean in the semi-darkness of the room. Stunned, Dean lets out a little snarky breath, trying desperately to save face because his little brother's words have just completely undone him. He is seconds away from losing his composure, and neither one of them can afford that.

"Yeah, I am," he finally agrees, voice cracking slightly as he settles back once again. "So go brush your teeth so all that sugar doesn't rot them out of your big head."

Sam groans, laughing softy as he flops over further into the pillow, shuffling into a more lying down position and dragging the blanket up over his shoulder.

"Noooo," he whines, good naturedly. "Tired and comfortable."

Dean laughs and shakes his head as he gently nudges the kid towards the end of his own side of the bed.

"You literally just promised to keep doing what I tell you. Like...seconds ago," he teases. "That's gotta be some new kind of record."

"It's my birthday," Sam sleepily reminds him, sounding like a petulant five year old as he doggedly refuses to move. "I should get what I want."

Dean smiles and sighs, giving in as he feels Sam's pressure against the pillow wedged between them grow heavier with impending slumber.

"Yeah, you should, buddy," he whispers fondly. "Happy Birthday, little brother."

Sam was already asleep by the time the words came out of his mouth, and the rest of the house was empty. So there were no witnesses to question the authenticity of Dean's man card for taking a few minutes to enjoy the comfort of his little brother warm and resting easily against him.

Knowing that no matter what the future was bringing them, these calm and pleasant days were numbered.

/

Unsurprisingly, Sam's physics test went as well as he expected it to, because he always studied hard and made sure that he was prepared. Just because his college applications were processed and he had his acceptances in hand, there was no reason to start slacking off now.

Especially since he had been informed that he was in the running for class valedictorian. A decision that would be made once all final exams had been graded in the next few weeks.

So far, the day had been filled with friends and acquaintances wishing him a happy birthday as he strolled through the hallways between classes. Holy Rosary always included a list of people celebrating their special day in the morning announcements, and Sam had been pleasantly surprised by how many of his fellow students had sought him out to express their good wishes.

He was really going to miss this place, and the friends he had made here.

For the first time, he felt warmly nostalgic when thinking about his waning days at a school. It was a world away from the bitterness, resentfulness and melancholy that he had experienced towards the end of his stay at the multitude of other schools he had attended over the years.

The difference was that his time at Holy Rosary was coming to a natural end. Not one where he was being pulled away, unwilling and not ready to sever his ties to the people he had become friendly with. It was an entirely different sensation, and one that, although painful, was much easier to process and live with, because this is what was meant to happen as kids grew up.

Standing at his locker at the end of the school day, he sorted the items that he would need at home later and loaded his backpack. Alex had already been through to kiss him goodbye as she zipped off to meet up with the rest of the drama club in the theater for an hour of rehearsal.

Sam should have been joining her, since he had signed up to run tech for the spring production of Oklahoma, but Dean had been very clear that he was picking Sam up after classes to run some birthday errands. The club didn't necessarily need him there today anyway. His job was simple and didn't require a lot of practice time.

Not like when he had actually acted in Our Town over the winter. He'd enjoyed the acting part, but even Sam Winchester had his limits on his willingness to embarrass himself for the sake of art.

Volunteering to run tech was a concession he made because he was still trying to make it up to his girlfriend for being away during spring break, even though she had been very understanding. However, as much as Alex and the rest of his friends meant to him, Hell would freeze over before anyone would see Sam either sing or dance on stage.

Dean had also made arrangements with Sam's track coach to get him excused that afternoon, despite the fact that they had a meet on Thursday which would normally require his attendance at practice. He didn't know what his big brother said to convince the usually unswerving athletic director, but it must have been truly convincing to not cost Sam his place on the team for competition day.

By three, he was dutifully waiting at the drop off curb when the Impala's growl echoed in the distance, growing ever more curious as to their destination. Dean hadn't specified what they were doing. Only insisting that Sam make sure that he had his actual license on him and to be ready to go.

When the black beauty pulled up and Sam climbed inside, Dean was smiling mischievously but adamantly refused to give a single hint regarding his mysterious plans, so Sam just shook his head, smiled and went with it.

It was usually better to just let Dean have his way when he got like this.

Apparently, as Sam was about to find out, Dean had taken it into his head to make sure that his little brother did everything he now legally could or was required to do at age eighteen.

The first stop was at the local DMV, where Sam was directed to fill out the form allowing him to register to vote. Then on to the nearest post office, where he fulfilled his civic duty and registered for the Selective Service, brushing aside a momentary pang of disappointment that it should be his veteran father that was there with him for this one.

It had been on John's eighteenth birthday that he had enlisted in the Corps.

They hadn't heard from Dad in a few days and, somewhat shamefully, Sam wasn't entirely sure he even wanted his father around today. Which was a lot like it had been last year when Sam was still harboring a ton of resentment over their gypsy lifestyle, and that idea only made him even more sad than he already was over the situation.

Sam was sure now where he stood in his father's eyes. Just another grunt for the Winchester Army, homeless and living on the road. An asset to be used for research and grave digging while Dad hunted down anything he could find.

It apparently didn't matter to his father what Sam wanted in life. Or Dean either, to be honest. John Winchester always got what he wanted, and what he wanted was his sons tied to him and doing his bidding regardless of any dreams they might have for themselves.

As far as Sam was concerned, Dad was in for a disappointment this time.

Sam wasn't planning on going along with his father's agenda of hitting the road again after graduation, but he would keep his mouth shut and toe the line until it was time for his college classes to start. He had every intention of going to the university in Sioux Falls whether his father liked it or not.

Short of holding him hostage, there wasn't much Dad could do about it because, pretty soon, Sam would be financially independent enough to take care of himself.

Pulling him out of these troubling thoughts was another quick stop, this time at a convenience store where Dean gave him twenty bucks to buy lottery tickets and a pack of cigarettes. Only to immediately take the cigarettes from him, throw them out and threaten to kick Sam's ass every day for a week if Dean ever caught him buying another one.

Silly, weird, protective big brother.

After that stop, Sam had wrongfully assumed they were finally headed back to the school to collect the Camaro when Dean suddenly pulled into the parking lot of a national bank. Sam gave his brother a confused look, even as Dean hopped out with a smile and beckoned Sam to follow him.

The end of the business day was approaching fast, and the cool streamlined interior of the bank was empty except for employees. As they walked silently across a thick pile carpet, Dean seemed to already know where he was going, heading straight to the back of the large room and throwing a thousand watt smile at the well dressed, gray haired lady sitting behind a large mahogany desk.

She politely invited them to sit down, and when Sam was slow to join his brother in one of the plush armchairs in front of the desk, Dean had grinned impishly before turning serious.

"You're an adult now, Sammy. You need a bank account."

Eyes widening in surprise, Sam was overcome with wonderment and emotion that his brother would even give something like that thought. Too used to their father's well worn admonition about how the family needed to stay off the grid and not leave behind traces of their identities.

Of course Sam had already been thinking about opening an account.

Along with his arrangements for school, he had begun to make meticulous plans for the care and upkeep of the house when that had still been a possibility before his father's dismissal of the idea. But in all that time, it had never occurred to him that his live on the cusp of the law brother would care whether or not Sam could legally write checks for expenses in a normal life.

And he certainly didn't expect the five hundred dollars in cash that Dean passed over to him to make his first deposit.

"What?" Dean had asked, incredulously. "Did you think I forgot to give you a gift?"

The generosity of the gift and the enormity behind the gesture rendered Sam almost completely mute, and it took some effort and assistance to help him fill out the forms. They left the bank twenty minutes later with Sam the proud new owner of a checkbook, with a bank card on the way in the mail, and a deeper appreciation of his brother.

/

It took Sam a minute to realize that things were different than usual when he got home after picking up his car from the school lot.

At first he had wondered why Dean didn't wait for him to follow the Impala home, instead zooming out of the parking lot and leaving Sam running a few minutes behind. But as he made his way into the kitchen at the back at the house, Sam heard voices in the backyard.

Apparently, while the brothers had been out and about doing birthday errands, Alex and the other girls from their study group had taken it upon themselves to go out all with decorations for the birthday barbecue.

Sam grinned to himself and blushed, feeling all warm and fuzzy for his thoughtful girlfriend and friends who clearly had abandoned their afternoon activities to create such a fun party atmosphere.

Somehow they had managed to hang long swags of strung white party lights and small glass lanterns from the tree branches that draped over the two borrowed, long rectangular folding tables where they would eat. Both tables were heavy with decorations of a Hawaiian theme. Fake mini palm tree blow ups and green plastic grass table skirts. Colorful plates and napkins and little plastic tiki totems filled with Sam's favorite sweets. Another small table with coconut cups for drinks and scattered silk flower leis for the guests to wear.

Uncle Bobby and Dean had ransacked one of the outbuildings at the salvage yard and found a large grill. Dean had spent the past two days scrubbing it down and refinishing it, and now it stood gleaming off the side, heating up and getting ready for all the meat that the boys had marinating in the fridge.

Sam loved it all.

Within the next half hour, the rest of the guests had arrived. All members of Sam's study group and all well familiar and welcome in the Winchester house, so everyone felt at home. Dean had rigged up extra speakers for Sam's CD player and there was festive luau music playing while the kids started on the bowls of snacks before the real food was put on to cook.

The girls had mixed up some alcohol free cocktails, and everyone was lounging around on blankets in the yard while Dean and Uncle Bobby prepped the food in the kitchen to bring out for the grill. Sam had wanted real kabobs, and Dean was patiently threading meat and veggies on sticks for fourteen kids. Of course there were burgers and sausages too, because Dean didn't share his brother's opinion that everyone ate weird shit like teriyaki chicken and grilled cherry tomatoes.

Alex was taking charge of the drink mixing, and when they started to run out of ice, she sidled over to Sam and sat on his lap, curling her arms around his neck and whispering in his ear.

"Ice, ice, baby," she cooed, eliciting a groan at the terribly dated reference from her adoring boyfriend, but then Sam just rolled his eyes and kissed her before dutifully hauling himself up and heading into the house.

If he hadn't been moving so slowly, he might have unknowingly interrupted the conversation taking place in the kitchen.

"You can't be serious, Dean."

It was Uncle Bobby's voice, chastising his big brother. A tone that was rarely used by the old salvage man to either of the Winchester brothers. Still hidden by the entryway of the mud room, Sam halted his steps and pressed himself flush to the wall, intent on finding out what was going on.

"I am," Dean answer firmly. "I've never been more serious in my life."

Sam could hear Uncle Bobby sigh heavily, and from the rustling of pans, Dean was moving away from him.

"You've been white knuckling it all year, boy. Don't tell me you haven't. I can see it in your eyes."

"So?" Dean answered candidly. "I've been managing, haven't I? I'm guessing I can keep doing it a while longer if I need to."

"Wanna tell me how that's fair to you?" Uncle Bobby asked, his voice heavy with disapproval.

"I'm fine, Bobby," Dean insisted, starting to lose his temper. "I'm fine. We're fine, and it's gonna stay that way as long as I can help it."

"Your daddy isn't just gonna sit back and let this happen, Dean."

Dean chuckled humorlessly and Sam heard a pan drop on the table.

"He's not gonna have a choice," Dean stated. "Sam's idea was a fair compromise. I can't help it if Dad couldn't see that. So, he either goes along with it, or I'm out."

Sam couldn't help the sharp intake of breath he reflexively took, and he clapped a hand over his mouth to silence any other noise coming out before he was found eavesdropping.

His brother couldn't have meant what it sounded like, could he?

"So, what?" Uncle Bobby asked disbelievingly. "You just gonna sit back around here and fix cars while John goes out and hunts alone? You really think you can handle that? 'Cause I know how hard it's been for you to sit on the sidelines since you boys moved here."

There was a moment of tense silence while Sam held his breath, waiting for the answer with every bit of anticipation as Bobby surely was.

"If that's what it takes," Dean said finally.

"Bull. You're a hunter, boy. I don't much like it, but I've seen it in your eyes since the first time Johnny gave you a gun. It means everything to ya."

Another pause. Another deep breath that Sam immediately recognized as his brother.

"Sam means more," Dean stated in a tone that didn't invite question. "If Dad backs off and agrees to let Sam stay here and go to school, I'll head back out full time with him. If he doesn't, then I'm done. I'm just done with it all."

"You really mean that, don't cha?"

"Yes I do. I don't want to give my dad an ultimatum, but I will if I have to. It's that simple."

There was more puttering going on, and Sam carefully started to move back towards the back door when Bobby's voice stopped him again.

"So when ya tellin' him?"

"Who, Dad? I'm waiting for Sammy's graduation. He won't start planning anything for us until after that, and maybe shit will calm down before then where I don't gotta force his hand."

Sam couldn't hear anymore.

Could not make himself listen to his big brother's selfless capitulation for even more more second. Moving silently, he slipped out the back door and leaned against the side of the house as he struggled to calm his breathing.

Dean was going to do again. Fall on his sword like he always did and take the brunt of any fallout from their father. Sacrifice, so that once again Sam got what he wanted, regardless of the cost to Dean.

Could he possibly be serious about giving up the hunt? Just so Sam got to stay here and go to college? Dad would absolutely flip his shit if his firstborn son presented him with that kind of ultimatum.

And what about the search for Mom's killer? Sam knew without a doubt that Dean was just as dedicated to finding that son of a bitch and ending its pathetic life as Dad was. Could he really just sit back and let it go?

The plain and simple answer was Yes.

There wasn't a single doubt in Sam's mind that Dean would do exactly that if he had to. If Dad refused to accept the terms of Sam's compromise about school, Dean would grab Sam and walk away from the hunt.

Maybe it would have been different a year ago.

Before they spent time living as a normal family again. Before the brothers settled down and grew closer.

Because, even though Dean was always generous and protective, this past year and everything they had gone through to get here and maintain their lives in this house had fundamentally changed both of them.

Sam could see his brother beginning to question some of their father's orders. Something that would have never happened in the past. He also knew that, while Dean was jittery about not being actively on the hunt with Dad, time away from The Life had also given his brother another perspective on how their lives could be different.

Just like Sam himself could finally begin to accept that the work his father did was important.

Seeing it from the protection of safe and stable walls of their house, it had been easier to find an appreciation for the sacrifices that John made to save others. Not mired down in resentment over what those sacrifice did to Sam personally, he was finding himself understanding more and more of the good that their family did in the world.

If he had to be honest with himself, it was hard to admit how selfishly he had acted in the past. Yes, the hunter lifestyle was a difficult one to live, and one that Sam didn't think he would ever be truly comfortable living. But Dean wasn't wrong all the times that he impressed upon Sam the notion that their knowledge and training gave them an obligation to do whatever they could to help people.

Sam's big brother lived to help others.

Nothing gave him greater pleasure than to see people walk away from a bad situation because Dean's dedication and talents had neutralized a threat.

Unfairly, people often looked at Sam's brother and just saw a snarky, leather wearing thug, and they were too judgmental and shallow to look beyond the facade and see the good, kind and decent man that had risked his own life a thousand times over to save strangers in need without ever expecting thanks.

They had no idea that there were Dean Winchesters in the world that gave all they ever had to give to make sure that others could sleep at night. Running into the scary places, instead of fleeing. Fighting and hurting and bleeding, so that others didn't need to.

That was another reason why Sam hadn't been planning on leaving it entirely.

He was sure that, besides being an eventual avenue for legal work, one of his other places in the The Life was as a researcher. Because for one, he was damn good at it. Even his father grudgingly admitted that on several occasions, and Sam was more than willing to arm his family with as much knowledge as he could before they put their lives on the line for strangers.

But Dad had thrown Sam's offer in his face. Without even the barest of considerations. Treating Sam's attempt to find his place in the hunting world as inadequate and unsubstantial.

And now Dean was making plans to walk away from something that had always been important to him.

Just because Sam had made his own plans without first discussing them with either member of his family. Without regard to how Dad or Dean would really feel about it. Doing exactly what had always frustrated Sam about how their father ran things.

Keeping his family on a need to know basis.

Which Sam now realized had really been one of the most selfish things that he could have done, because Dean had been sacrificing everything he had for Sam since day one, and he had caused his brother real hurt by not choosing to confide in him sooner.

After listening to how Dean was once again planning to do whatever it took to make his little brother happy, now Sam was left wondering if it was finally his turn to be the one that gave up what he wanted if it meant ensuring Dean's happiness for a change.

While his mind tried to process these thoughts, he caught a glimpse of Alex in the corner of his eye and she was frowning at him, looking a little worried, and then he remembered she had sent him on an errand. He managed to throw a small smile at her that he didn't really feel at the moment and also reminded himself that he had a backyard full of friends who were there just to spend time with him, so he really needed to get his game face on.

Somehow he managed to compose himself enough to head back inside, determined to ignore what he had just heard and act normally until he had time to process everything.

And therefore was completely unprepared to find his father in the kitchen alongside Dean and Uncle Bobby.

As soon as Sam stepped foot in the kitchen, he almost ran directly into the broad frame of John Winchester.

Actually seeing his father made his breath hitch, because he had just about convinced himself that Dad was going to let this day pass without any notice. Maybe as some sort of penance for Sam for having the audacity to buck his father's commands and dare to take a stand in regards to his own life.

Of course Dad would want to punish his youngest son's impudence and insubordination, and surely he must know that even his hot headed and angry boy wanted to hear his father's voice on a special day.

Sam was still incredibly hurt by his father's actions and words. There were no two ways about that, and truthfully, the youngest Winchester was pretty sure that a part of him would never truly be able to forgive John for the cold and callous way he had reacted to what would be exciting news for most parents.

It didn't mean that Sam hadn't been relentlessly checking his phone all day long. Surreptitiously stealing glances at the caller list and feeling a sharp stab of hurt and sadness at not seeing his father show up. Dad wasn't normally around for their birthdays, it wasn't unusual at all, and even when he was, he was working and not really paying attention to them for the most part.

But even when he wasn't with them, he always called, and every time Sam had looked at his phone and didn't see any evidence that Dad was attempting to wish him a good day, he felt like a small, insecure child still desperate for his father's attention, and that had made him feel even shittier than he already did about the entire situation.

Pathetic even.

Why should he care whether or not Dad called? Wasn't he the one that had completely ignored his father on that last terrible day after their argument? He had been right to do it, because his father was completely unreasonable and a controlling ass and Sam wasn't a little boy anymore, and he didn't need his father's permission or pride or recognition.

At all. Really. Right?

Didn't mean Sam didn't want any of those things. So what did that really say about him?

Like a well muscled sentry, Dad just stood there, seeming tired and also a little sad.

It was a warm day, and John was only dressed in his USMC t-shirt and jeans instead of his normal layers that defined his time on a hunt, when you never knew what you might be encountering. Clean shaven, because when the weather got warmer, the thick black beard was stifling.

Strangely, Sam couldn't help noticing for the first time exactly how young his father could look.

Standing casually next to Dean, John could have been mistaken for an older brother and not a father, and Sam had a flash of painful realization about just how much their dad had been through in his relatively short life.

Sam's age when he went to a hellish war where he lost good friends and maybe even a part of himself as well among the swampy grasslands. Younger than Dean when he met the love of his life, and just a few years older when Dean was born.

When Sam had been younger, he hadn't really given much thought to all the curve balls that were thrown at his father's direction. That when John was just a little older than Sam was right now, all he had wanted was to work in his stepfather's garage and marry the girl he loved.

He'd never asked for the nightmare that had been thrust upon him.

A thousand thoughts flooded Sam's brain as he just stood there gaping, ignoring Dean's worried stare. His big brother probably nervous that Sam was going to start another fight the minute he opened his mouth. Uncle Bobby quietly excusing himself to get out of blast range of World War Three most likely gearing up in the Winchester's kitchen.

Maybe Dad understood the emotional torrent that was ravaging its way through Sam's entire body at the moment, leaving him doubting and confused.

One second furious with his father and wanting nothing to do with the man, and then the very next missing him terribly and desperately wanting them just to get along for once.

Angry and resentful over Dad's lack of enthusiasm for Sam's hopes, but yet still just a son that loved his father, even when they were fighting.

Whatever Dad saw on Sam's face must have given him a little clue. Which shouldn't have surprised Sam, because if it was one thing his father could do, it was read people. So when his father walked over to him slowly and pulled him into a hug, Sam found himself returning it with only the tiniest hesitation.

A second later, Sam was holding on tight and burying his face in Dad's shoulder, willing to forget, at least for a moment, that things were still raw and hurtful and unresolved between them, but that tomorrow was another day to worry about that. And his big bad hunter of a father was home with them safe, when he could just as easily be dead somewhere, or bleeding and alone with no one to help him or even begin to look for him.

There would be time to finish their fight and figure out plans for the future but, for now, all Sam wanted to do was feel his dad's arms around him and know, just for that moment, that maybe, just maybe, his father cared for Sam more than he was disappointed in him.

Sam would always remember that birthday party.

Things were still tense between him and his father, but they had called a truce long enough for Sam to introduce John to all of the friends he had made during his year in Sioux Falls. Sam's friends were curious about his mysterious father and, after meeting him in person, maybe also a little awed and a little intimidated as well.

He watched Dad and Dean co-man the grill with the easy back and forth that always seemed to exist with them.

Dad could have just been another neighborhood father that day with the way he cooked and joked around with Sam's guests, and for a moment Sam remembered that once upon a time his father had been a suburban dad before his life was taken from him in an instant.

Sam sat in a circle of his friends as they admired the shiny new Dell Inspiron laptop that his father had given him, along with buttery soft brown leather messenger bag to carry it in. What they didn't know was that, inside the bag, was also a new title for the Camaro that had Sam's name on it next to his father's. Officially giving him partial ownership of Cherry now that he was a legal eighteen.

Dad was trying his best. He really was, and although Sam was still deeply wounded from their fight, he loved his father more than he hated him.

And Dean?

Well, Dean was the person that Sam loved more than anyone else in the world.

And it might just be time that someone put Dean first for a change.

/

Sam was a good runner.

There was no doubt about it.

Not that John should doubt it, considering how much time he insisted that his kids run on a regular basis, as well all the times that he made them do extra miles and laps to curb poor behavior.

His sons were fucking professionals when it came to running.

It should have brought John such incredible pride and joy to sit in the stands of Holy Rosary's athletic field on a sunny Thursday afternoon and watch his strong and fast kid tear up the track in the 1600m race that he was currently dominating.

The metric mile.

Even John knew enough about high school track events to know that Sam's specialty was one of the hardest. It took both strength and speed to cover the distance, maintain a steady pace, and still have enough of a reserve kick to put a runner over the edge at the end to win.

And Sam was currently leaving his competition in the dust.

Dean was on his feet loudly cheering in his brother's direction. John couldn't help noticing all the young women and even some of the moms in the stand throwing lustful appreciative glances at his handsome son. Truthfully, quite of a few of them had come his way as well.

When he made the decision to spend some time at Sammy's school, John had eschewed his normal attire and made an effort to look like a respectable dad instead of hardened hunter. Noticing that Dean took more care with his appearance before leaving, John had donned his white button down shirt, sleeves rolled up and showing off his muscular forearms, as well as his black dress pants and shoes.

Once in a while he still remembered how to look nice, and wanted his kid to be as proud of his old man as he was of Sammy.

John was proud of his son. Of course he was, whether or not Sam chose to believe it.

And if it wasn't for the conversation he had with Dean earlier that day, he would also be on his feet screaming encouragement at his kid as Sam ate up the laps.

It had been such a casual remark really.

After talking to the boys at Christmas about John's love of baseball and captaining his high school team, Sammy had seemed interested in joining the team of his own school this spring. John had actually thought it was such a sure thing that he hadn't even bothered to ask his boys about it. Just assuming, wrongly, that his youngest was spending time on the school's diamond.

So when he caught Dean changing this afternoon to head out to the school to root Sam on, he had been more than a little surprised to find out that it was at a track meet and not at a ballgame.

He asked Dean what the change of heart had been, and it had taken his firstborn several uncomfortable seconds before he finally admitted that Sam did try out for the baseball team, but he wasn't given a position. The school's team was highly competitive, having won many state competitions over the years. There were several students who relied on their places on the team for college scholarships, and only the very best were chosen.

Sam simply didn't have a lot of experience playing the game.

He was athletic and coordinated, but except for a few weeks in gym class at schools here and there, Sammy never got the opportunity to hones his skills enough to be competitive.

Dean's remark wasn't meant to wound his dad, or cast any sort of aspersion at John for being responsible for Sam's lack of talent, but that is exactly how the guilty father felt.

Because once upon a time, John had looked at his baby son and dreamed of all the great times they would have together as he taught Sammy to pitch and hit. Dean had already been playing T-ball when Sammy was born, under his father's careful instruction and tutelage. The two of them spent many hours together in the backyard of the house in Lawrence with John throwing soft pitches into his four year old's tiny glove.

And John had wanted that for Sammy too.

Even going so far as to insist on buying a baseball theme mobile for Sam's nursery. Every night either John or Mary would wind up the soft tinkling music in Sam's crib and the baby would be mesmerized by the dancing shapes of plush little bats and mitts and balls circling overhead.

Then the fire happened, and John's dreams of playing ball with his baby boy went up in a wisp of smoke along with the mobile.

So, Sam never learned to play baseball, because his father had never taken the time to teach him.

But Sam did know how to run.

Sitting in the bleachers, John had to ask himself if it was really any wonder that Sam was threatening to run far and fast from his family.

Because, after all, his father had taken the time to teach him that.

/

"Dean!"

It was a desperate, pitiful cry from Sam's bedroom, but it brought a huge smile to the older brother's face as he stopped sorting laundry in the mud room and turned to race up the stairs, taking two at a time. Sammy was standing in front of his mirror, flushed, overwhelmed and struggling with the scrap of pink fabric dangling from his neck.

"I can't figure out how to tighten this stupid thing," Sam grumped, shoving his bow tie at his brother's waiting hands.

Dean could have cracked a joke at his little brother's expense, seeing as how the ostentatious bow tie was a simple pre-tied adjustable that came with the tux rental, but the poor kid was one second away from hyperventilating from nerves, so he calmly got it fastened around Sam's neck instead.

"Relax, Fabio," he soothed, "You're gonna be one sharp dressed man at that prom. After all, you share my awesome genes."

The smile Sam gave him was forced, and more than a little harried, but at least the kid was breathing again.

"Told ya she was gonna make you wear pink, dude," Dean snorted, as he smoothed the shirt collar and grabbed the matching pink vest that Alex assured Sam was the exact color of her dress.

"Ugh, don't remind me," Sam moaned, clenching his eyes tight against the offensiveness of the bright pastel he was being forced to wear all night.

Following Dean's direction, Sam obediently held out his arms behind him and let his brother help him into the vest before doing up the buttons.

"At least the tux itself is black," Dean pointed out helpfully. "You can probably ditch the tie and vest after photos are taken."

"Yeah, sure," Sam scoffed, giving his brother an are you kidding me look, as he rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You've met my girlfriend, right? You really think she's gonna let me off that easy?"

"No, probably not, Dean agreed finally, turning around to grab the suit jacket next.

Once Sam had his jacket on and used a brush in a futile effort to tame his unruly hair, he turned to get his brother's opinion.

"Well? How bad?"

Again, there was the perfect opening to take a brotherly jab at the kid, but Dean couldn't do it.

Sammy really looked good.

Better than good.

He looked great.

Tall, handsome and grown up, yet somehow still boyishly adorable.

Looking doubtful of his brother's assurances, and horrifically still insecure, because there were more years of awkward ugly duckling in his past than smooth male model, and Dean wasn't going to give the kid even the tiniest reason to doubt that he was going to do the Winchester name proud at the prom.

"You look terrific, kiddo," Dean answered him honestly. "I hope Alex is prepared to defend your honor against the flock of chicks that's gonna be chasing your ass all night."

Sam huffed, but he smiled shyly, ducking his head away and turning to give his hair another go. Dean watched him carefully, searching for another sign or two that his little brother was planning on doing what Dean suspected he was planning tonight.

All week long, Sam had been asking tentative questions and dropping small hints that he was considering making his prom night the night, without actually coming right out and saying as much. Sammy was too private and too much of a gentleman to talk about anything that intimate, even with his brother, but clearly the kid still needed a little bit of guidance.

So, Dean had answered all his questions, being as encouraging and supportive as possible, without teasing him or pushing him. Sammy wouldn't be rushed, he knew that for a fact, and if it happened tonight, it would be as a result of careful consideration and thought.

Didn't mean that Dean wasn't going to give him a brotherly nudge in the right direction.

"You know," he started casually, "I was thinking that I would stay over at Bobby's place tonight. That Cougar I'm rebuilding is giving me a shit ton of trouble, and I'm behind. Might put in a few extra hours since you're gonna be out."

As he suspected, Sam's eyes flew open wide and the brush tumbled from a suddenly clumsy hand and clattered to the floor.

Yep.

"And Dad's still in Georgia for a few more days, at least," he continued, picking the brush up and handing it back to his now deer-in-the-headlights brother. "You don't mind having the place to yourself, do you?"

Sam's breathing had skipped to a decidedly nervous pace as he desperately tried to act cool and not give anything away.

"No...no, that...that's fine," he stuttered, blinking rapidly and unable to look his brother in eye. "I'll be fine."

Dean smirked and bit back a laugh, clapping his little brother on the back.

"Good to know," he teased. "I'll probably be home by lunchtime tomorrow. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Sam nodded, swallowing repeatedly to clear the sudden clog in his throat.

Still acting casual, Dean brushed off some imaginary lint from the back of Sam's suit jacket. "You got everything you need, kiddo? Cash? Keys? Corsage?"

Sam nodded jerkily as he grabbed his wallet and keys from the top of the dresser and gave his relatively clean room a more thorough inspection than he might have under other circumstances.

"Yeah, corsage is in the fridge," he replied nervously. "I'm good, I think."

"Then you better get going," Dead advised, steering him towards the stairs. "You're already late."

Taking a quick glance at his watch, Sam rapidly picked up the pace, and dashed towards the stairs to charge down to the kitchen.

"Shit. Shit. Shit! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just did," Dean protested, laughing at his brother running around like a headless chicken. "No speeding, Turbo Racer! She can wait a few minutes for you to get there in one piece."

Sam grabbed the clear plastic container with the white and pink orchids out of the fridge and glanced around, frowning as if he was forgetting something and then getting frustrated by not remembering what it was.

"Sammy, you're stalling," Dean advised, pushing his little brother closer to the front door.

At the last second, Sam turned around with hopeful, pleading eyes. "Oh! Um..two o'clock tonight? Maybe? Please please please?"

Just because Dean wasn't going to be home, didn't mean that Sam wasn't expected to follow his curfew. Even if he was just informed that the house would be empty all night like Sam had been hoping for all week.

"Nah," Dean shook his head. "No curfew tonight. Prom only comes around once, and you're a big kid now, remember?"

Sam's mile wide grin could have lit up the world, and it was more than enough to warm Dean down to his very soul to see the kid so happy.

"Just do me a favor," he continued seriously. "Text me if you're gonna be anywhere other than the school or home, okay? And it's cool if you have a friend over to stay the night afterwards, as long as it's just one friend."

"Yeah, okay, Dean," Sam promised, with a sheepish little grin on his face. "I promise."

"Good," Dean nodded, grabbing Sam by the shoulder and growing serious for a moment. "Nothing has to happen tonight if you're not ready. You hear me? No one's keeping score."

The not so subtle reference wasn't lost on Sammy, and he blushed and nodded his head shyly, smiling with all the dimples.

"Alright, get outta here, already," Dean laughed, shoving his little brother out the door, and watched as Sammy, looking super sharp and way older than possible, climbed into the Camaro with a jaunty wave goodbye and took off.

Dean felt a flush of pride as he headed back into the house and strode towards the mud room. Sammy had grown up so good, and the big brother wanted to claim at least a little credit for that.

He pulled the clean, pleasantly scented sheets out of the dryer and added the next load. Sammy didn't have any idea that his brother was determinedly laundering all the extra bedding in the house. Grabbing the basket of fresh sheets, he made his way back upstairs and began to strip Sam's bed and remake it.

Dean had good memories of his first time with a girl, resulting ass whipping aside.

Although he had never seen Beth again, and now knew from Pastor Jim that she was in the wind, he had thoroughly enjoyed his time with her. Passing such a milestone in the backseat of Baby was perfectly fine by him.

Preferable, even, because most of his really happy memories took place in the Impala, so it was only natural that it was where he lost his virginity, and had subsequently enjoyed the company of several young ladies since.

As much as Sammy loved his Camaro, having sex in the back seat is not what Dean's sensitive little brother would want for his own first experience, and not just because of the precarious logistics it would require to get the little Sasquatch to fit back there.

Sammy was much more shy and conservative, and he would want the encounter to be as special as possible. Intimate and private, and not out in the open where anyone could come across him and his girl. Dean was happy to give them the privacy and protection of their house, if tonight was the night that Sam chose to be with Alex.

He knew that Sam wouldn't come right out and ask, because there was no way the kid would share the details of his hopes even in a quest to get Dean out of the way. But Sam did make an overly casual mention that Alex had arranged with Taylor, the girl from the study group, to be her alibi for the night so that Alex's parents weren't expecting her home.

Obviously, Dean had met Alex's parents, since his little brother wouldn't be allowed to spend time at their house without them being investigated. Knowing them, Dean had more faith in the Logans than to think they would fall for such a thin ploy on prom night, but apparently they had given consent. So they either were genuinely in denial over their daughter's burgeoning promiscuity, or they knew, and were giving tacit permission anyway.

In any case, the writing was on the wall that Alex could spend the night with Sam if she chose to.

Dean smirked as he finished smoothing on the new sheets before going out to the linen closet in the hallway and grabbing an armful of extra pillows. He covered them with clean cases and added them to the bed, fluffing and plumping to make it look cozy as possible.

Many women had enticed Dean into their beds over the years. Some quickly, with no finesse or preamble if it was a simple bar hook up but, occasionally, he was invited over when there had been more time to plan a romantic rendezvous. So he knew more than his share about creating the appropriate enticing ambiance.

From his room he collected two overly full shopping bags and brought them back into Sammy's room. Leaving them on the dresser with a note written with big, bold letters

ATMOSPHERE SAMMY!

In the bags, Sam would find enough vanilla almond candles Sam's favorite scent, the big girl to burn the house down, along with CDs of soft music for the player on the dresser, and a large bottle of essential oil bubble bath.

This was all a trick Dean had learned from Rhonda Hurley a few years ago, and it was apparently convincing enough to get him to agree to wear her pink panties that night. A little secret he wouldn't be sharing with his brother in this lifetime.

Dean wasn't creepy enough or sappy enough to arrange the candles himself, because he was Sam's big brother, not his pimp, but he knew the kid well enough to know that Sammy would charge up here to at least make sure it was all tidy before bringing his girl up for some romance. He would have time to set his own stage if it came to that point.

A quick glance in Sam's sock drawer reconfirmed the presence of the box of condoms from Easter and, reassured that all would go smoothly, Dean made his way downstairs to do a quick tidying around the house before he left for Bobby's place twenty minutes later.

A huge grin on his face as he locked the door behind him.

/

The candles were flickering in the darkness from their positions spread out around his room, and the heavy aroma of vanilla almond had penetrated deep into Sam's nasal passage as he lay in the nest of pillows with his arms wrapped tight around Alex's slim body.

An unfamiliar piece of piano music played quietly from the dresser in the background, as Sam gently stroked the softness of Alex's bare arm and she lay with her head against his chest, breathing slow deep breaths across his skin. He could tell by the relatively tense way she was holding herself that she wasn't sleeping.

Sam hadn't quite known exactly what to expect from his first sexual experience.

He had grown up in some pretty shady places. Heard lots of people through thin shared walls making various degrees of happy noises that caused him to jam a pillow over his ears.

Dean was blunt enough about his own conquests to give a fairly clear picture. No gory details that would require Sam to scrub his brain to get it clean again, but enough to figure out the basics.

Sam even managed to catch the occasional viewing of Casa Erotica if Dean had purchased the full twenty-four hour rental period during a school day before he headed out to the bars, leaving behind a curious and horny little brother to sneak a peek.

A good student and fervent reader, Sam had also had more than one occasion to come across rather graphic descriptions of literary interludes between the characters. While he knew that a fair amount of artistic license would be taken by authors, he had to admit that the passionate, flowery language used when detailing the encounters had given him a false sense of expectations for his own.

The first word coming to mind when thinking about his time with Alex being...awkward.

It was well and truly awkward.

The prom itself had been a really fun time. Unlike his fraudulently hyped popularity at the Homecoming dance, neither Sam nor Alex made the Prom court, and that was perfectly fine with both of them. Sam had happily distanced himself from the shallow atmosphere of the popular kids clique months earlier, finding good friends in his normal comfort zone of academics and arts.

With their group of friends surrounding them, the young couple had spent several pleasurable hours dancing and hanging out in the garishly decorated gym of the school. Alex had looked absolutely stunning in a strapless pink gown. Lacy and delicate and flowing softly in all the right places. Sam was bursting with pride to hold her in his arms as they swirled around the dance floor.

Afterwards, a large crowd of them had gone out to eat at one of the trendy chain restaurants that stayed open late on the weekends. As promised, Sam texted his brother his location and received one back simply stating that Dean hoped he was enjoying himself and that he would see him tomorrow.

When it was time to leave, Sam nervously asked Alex if she wanted to stay over with him for the night. Although they had not really discussed details in full, it was more or less understood and agreed on between them prior to prom night that this was something they both wanted if they could arrange a location.

Sam had been pretty confident that Dean would catch on to the hints he had been dropping, but he had been getting nervous when Dean waited until just before he left for prom to confirm that they could have the house. Although honestly, he had been more worried about getting consent to stay out later.

Because, yeah, Sam's life was weird enough that going out to an unapproved location and breaking curfew was a bigger deal than having sex with his girlfriend in their empty house.

Getting back to the Winchester's home, the two teens spent a while on the couch engaged in the same activities that had been so bluntly interrupted by John's unexpected arrival weeks prior. Eventually, Sam worked up the nerve to start hinting about going upstairs, and he gave Alex a moment to herself while he jogged up to his room to give it a good once over before he invited her up.

At first he had been absolutely mortified by Dean's presumptuous preparations, but the more he thought about it, the more grateful he became.

Nervous and jittery, he had scurried around the room, placing and lighting candles as aesthetically as he possibly could, not really having any clue as to what he was doing. The bed didn't need anything, so that was awesome because he was harried enough as it was, and the less he needed to think about it, the better.

He threw in the first CD he grabbed, moved the condoms to the drawer in his nightstand in an effort to be smooth, and sat on the edge of the bed for a minute to calm his racing heartbeat.

Everything more of less went downhill after that.

At least in the hearts and flowers aspect of love making.

It was Alex's first time as well, and for all of her poise and confidence, she was a lot like Sam when it came to matters of physical intimacy.

Both of them were excessively nervous, and there was a lot of clumsy and inelegant fumbling to undress each other. The curious exploration of their partner's unfamiliar body becoming increasingly nerve wracking the less clothing they were wearing. Sam had never been nude in front of a girl before, and although he knew he had a nicely toned physique from all of his workout regimens, he was still extremely bashful about his looks.

Alex was exactly the same.

Petite and slightly curvy, and every bit as self conscious of her own desirability as she discretely tried to show interest in him without looking like a gawking pervert, because she honestly hadn't realized just how beautiful Sam really was under his school uniforms.

For his part, Sam just about finished the act all on his own before they even really got started when he got his first full look at her. He was grateful for the dim lighting from the candles for hiding both his overly eager arousal as well as all the questionable scars that he didn't want to particularly explain when expectations were already high enough.

The rest of the experience was definitely not romance novel material.

No amount of jittery wrangling from two graceless virgins was going to get a condom on Sam with any sort of erotic finesse to set the mood. Technically they both knew what to do, but actually pulling it off without looking ridiculous was a whole other embarrassing matter.

It was a series of uncoordinated movements that were more frustrating than sensual. The act itself being surprisingly messy, unfortunately somewhat painful for Alex and, to Sam's utter humiliation, exceedingly fast.

Although she smiled and said all the right things afterwards, Sam was pretty sure that Alex hadn't really enjoyed most of it at all. So as he held her in his arms afterwards, his mind raced for inspiration on how to salvage their night together, because he truly cared for her and he was desperate to please her.

Not at all wanting her first time to be forever equated with a traumatizing experience.

Fairly sure that a suggestion of trying again would be understandably shot down, he remembered the bottle of bubble bath.

"How about a warm bath?" he suggested, leaning over slightly and nuzzling Alex's ear.

Alex sighed deeply and gratefully nodded her head, not trusting her voice to not break if she responded verbally. Things had not quite been what she expected, but it wasn't Sam's fault and she didn't want to upset him more than she probably already had.

A bath suddenly sounded heavenly.

"Okay," Sam whispered, kissing her head gently before slipping out of the bed and pulling on a pair of boxer briefs.

He may have just been intimate with Alex, and it was his own home that was empty except for the two of them, but Sam was still too painfully shy to make a nude post-coital strut around the house. He grabbed the bag that contained the bubble bath and some more of the candles before he strode into the bathroom.

Their tub was large and it took awhile to fill, and he intermittently added more bath gel to really get a good layer of foam floating on top. He scattered the candles around and lit them, hoping that this time the setting would be more pleasing. When the tub was full, he shut off the taps and then made his way back into his room where Alex was curled up in a sheet as she lay on the bed. Sam leaned over and kissed her softly, carefully scooping her up in his arms and carrying her to the bathroom.

He gently divested them of both the sheet and his boxers and he helped her into the tub, slipping in behind her to wrap his arms around her under the cover of lavender scented bubbles. For the first time that evening, she lay against him completely relaxed, and he let out a deep breath of relief. Finally truly comfortable, they stayed there, entwined in each other's arms and talking quietly, until the water began to cool.

She asked for a few private moments, and he obligingly extricated himself, wrapping a towel around his waist and leaving her alone inside the bathroom. Moving quickly, he grabbed another set of clean linens from the hall closet and quickly remade his bed, bundling the other sheets into a ball. He threw on his sleep pants and a t-shirt and ran downstairs with the used linen and threw it all in the washing machine and started a cycle.

Then he opened the freezer in the kitchen and took out a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream as well as a clean spoon from the dish drainer.

He wasn't sure if she had anything to sleep in with her, so he also pulled one of his new T-shirts from the DC trip from his dresser. Plain white cotton with a whimsical rendering of Matisse's Open Window that was housed in the National Gallery. For some reason, Sam had found it fascinating because he had always had a thing about French Impressionist and post-Impressionist painters. He padded quietly back down to the bathroom, knocked, and told her through the door that he was leaving the shirt draped on the doorknob if she wanted it.

By the time she rejoined him, Sam had extinguished all the candles and had the room lit with the soft light of his nightstand lamp. He was already back in bed, sitting up against the headboard with the blanket drawn up around his waist. Alex was standing in the doorway, hair still damp from the bath and clad in his shirt, the hem falling down to mid thigh being the tiny thing she was.

She smiled, immensely relieved to see him so casually situated and clearly with no further expectations. It only took a moment for her to join him under the blanket, and he settled her comfortably under his right arm and handed her the ice cream and spoon. With his left hand, he reached over to the nightstand and picked up his dogeared copy of Leaves of Grass, and they spent the next hour with Sam reading her poetry while she ate spoonfuls of mint chip.

Afterwards, Sam would always look back and think that it was really at the end of their evening together when they were truly intimate with each other.

/

When Mr. Hopkins summoned Sam to his office that afternoon, Sam was expecting to be told that he had, in fact, earned the valedictorian position. What he didn't expect was to have his world turned directly upside down.

"I just head from Stanford, Sam. They're giving you a full ride."

/