WARNING: Trigger warning for emotional abuse from a parent.

Book Two

Of Planning and Pool Cues

CHAPTER TWO

"You don't want to a part of this family, just say so!"

"That's not what I meant-"

"Isn't it? You been pushing to get out of here for years, Sammy. Don't talk to me like I don't know what you're thinking." John glared at him, his dark eyes narrowed in rage. "Don't you lie to me."

"Would you just listen to me?" Sam gasped. They were both standing in the kitchen, Sam's bag lying in the corner of the room where John had thrown it after he ripped it from Sam's shoulder. He'd heard something rip when the bag had torn loose so he'd have to be careful when he picked it up. He hoped it was still salvageable.

"I don't want this to be my whole life," he said, desperation making his voice thick. He struggled with his self-control, willing himself not to cry. His eyes stubbornly burned and he could feel the heat on his face, a mixture of anger and fear. "I don't want to wake up twenty years down the road and realize how much I missed."

"So you're just gonna leave, that it? Run off an abandon your family?"

Sam's breath caught in his throat. Why was his dad acting like this? He just… he just wanted to live a life that was normal. He wanted… he…

"Why can't I just have a normal life?"

"Because we're Hunters, Sam!" John yelled.

"But what if I don't want to be?" Sam asked, his own voice rising without his volition. "What if I want to try living like a normal person? What if I want to know what it's like to not pull a gun on every odd shadow or creaking door?"

"You think you can just turn it off?" John snapped, stepping forward until he was barely an inch from Sam. His dad was still taller than him, if only just, and he used all of his height and his anger to get right in Sam's face - a classic intimidation technique Sam himself had been taught until he mastered. He hated using it, hated acting like he was superior or like he would attack someone if they disagreed. That's part of why he wanted out. He couldn't take this anymore.

"Dad, please," Sam whispered, but John ignored him, pressing forward and forcing Sam to step back or be walked into. "I just want a normal life."

"Our lives aren't normal! They never have been!"

"They were once," Sam snapped back, the anger at his father's lies snapping forward like a snake. "Maybe I want a chance of what you had with Mom!"

"Your mother's dead because we lived a normal life, because we didn't know what was out there! Normal killed her and you want to go back to that? You just want to erase her?"

"I don't even remember her!"

John slammed his fist into the wall by Sam's face, the plaster crumbling against the force. Sam jerked away, gasping in surprise, and heard a hiss of breath from across the room. He glanced up to see that Dean had stepped forward, his fists clenched at his sides, face red with restraint.

John pulled his hand out of the hole he had made in the plaster and Sam looked back at him, ready to move if he needed to, but John didn't raise his fist again. They were clenched tight at his sides, the right one white with drywall dust. He glared at Sam, his eyes dark with fury, but Sam's back was pressed to the wall. He had nowhere to retreat to.

"Dad," Dean said tentatively.

"Stay out of this, Dean!" John snapped, not looking away from Sam. "Or were you planning on leaving, too?"

"I… no," Dean said, the surprise clear in his voice. "Of course not."

John nodded. His jaw was clenched tight. "So you're just gonna walk away, Sam? Just like that? What would've happened if Dean hadn't stopped you? Would you have even said goodbye?"

Sam didn't answer, which he supposed was answer enough. His plan had been to catch the bus and call Dean from his cell once he was on the move, too far away for Dean to catch him even with his foot to the floor. But Dean had seen him leaving, seen the bag slung over his shoulder, and Sam hadn't been able to keep walking with Dean's confused and frightened "Sam?" echoing in his ears.

"So that's how it is," John said, and his voice sounded cooler but the rage was only banked, simmering low, like a tide waiting to rise. The man stepped back, away from Sam, and gestured at the bag in the corner. "Fine, then. Go. Get out."

Sam eyed him warily for a moment, then stepped past him. He grabbed his bag from the floor, noting that one of the straps had been torn from the back and now dangled uselessly. He'd had to replace it once he got to California.

"Sam-"

"No, Dean. Let him go if he wants to go. Let him run off like a coward. We don't need him."

Sam tried to hide how much that hurt but he didn't think he managed very well. He swung his bag over his shoulder by its good strap and headed for the door. He didn't think there was anything left to say. He was pushing the door open when John spoke, and his voice held all the threat Sam had only ever heard him use on monsters.

"You walk out that door, Sam, you don't ever come back."

Sam froze in the doorway, cold rushing over his skin. His breath stuttered in his lungs and he felt tears rush to his eyes. He distantly heard Dean snap at their dad, panic in his voice, but John's voice spoke over him, a growled threat. "You hear me, Samuel? Don't you ever come back."

Sam's fingers tightened on the doorknob, then he nodded without turning around. "Yes, sir."

The door banged shut behind him as he continued walking, and it took everything in him not to turn around when he heard Dean screaming after him, heard his father's raised voice and Dean's angry reply. Sam fought the urge to turn around one last time to see his brother.

He wasn't going to give John the satisfaction of his tears.

Sam's eyes snapped open and he sucked in a sharp breath, the sudden force of the air hitting the back of his throat like a karate chop. He coughed hard, rolling over and kicking the blankets off of himself. He sat up, letting his feet brush the carpeted floor, and ran his hands through his hair. It was tangled and his fingers caught. Sam hissed at the sharp tug and untangled his fingers. He sighed as he wiped his face, his fingers coming away wet with tears.

He gingerly wiped his eyes. They were sore and the lids ached. He glanced at his clock and sighed.

11:07 PM

He wished he was surprised but really, he should have expected to dream of that night. Being back here, and with this body so soon removed from that moment, it was no surprise that his mind gravitated to the fight with John and his disownment. He wondered if the memories were clearer because of the age of this body, if perhaps his mind had returned but this version of Sam that he had replaced had merely assimilated his future knowledge, rather than completely replacing the version that had been here. If that were the case, it made sense that the memory of the fight was as crisp as it was.

Sam stood up and moved toward the bathroom, his hand trailing along the wall so he didn't have to turn on lights. He grabbed a washcloth out of the bathroom cupboard and soaked it in cold water before cover his eyes with it. The cold soothed the burn of his eyes and he sighed in relief.

He itched to find his phone and dial Dean. Wanted to call his brother and tell him that he was fine, that he'd made it Stanford, that he was safe and all right and there was salt on every windowsill and in front of every door. He wanted to call and listen to his brother's voice. He wanted to soothe away the memory of Dean frantically calling his name as he walked away, but he knew he couldn't. If John found out…

Dean had snuck out of the house later that night and made his way to the bus station, determined to make sure his little brother was all right. Sam had missed the bus he'd been hoping to catch because of the fight with John and hadn't wanted to waste what little money he'd had for a motel room. He'd been using his bag as a pillow, hand fisted around the broken strap, when Dean plopped into the seat next to him.

What followed was an interrogation of his plans, of what the letter he'd received had said, of what he planned to do for money and a place to stay. Sam had answered every question, feeling obligated to give his brother this after trying to leave without saying goodbye and pissing off John.

He'd expected Dean to drag him back, to bully him until he walked through the door to the house and was left at the mercy of John's whim. He didn't know whether to expect that John would accept him back on the condition that he never left again or to be thrown out, but he hadn't anticipated Dean.

His brother had pulled out a few hundred dollars from his pocket and slapped it into Sam's hand with a growled "Here." Dean had pulled a messenger bag out of the inner pocket of his coat. "Put your stuff in here before you end up dropping it everywhere." He'd helped Sam transfer his meager supply of clothes to the new bag, Dean's mouth in a tight line and his responses to Sam's questions coming out as grunts more often than words.

"When's your bus leave?"

"Eight in the morning. Dean-" he cried, as Dean pulled him to his feet.

"Come on, let's get a motel room."

"Dean, I can't-"

"You aren't sleeping here, Sammy. You'll get your gangly ass mugged within an hour and then you'll never make it to… wherever."

"Stanford."

"Right. Stanford." They'd walked in silence for a while, before Dean quietly added, "And maybe I want to spend one more night with my brother before he disappears into a normal life."

Sam hesitated, then quietly said, "You could come with me."

Dean snorted. "Like Dad would let us both leave." He sighed. "Besides, I'd hate college. Fucking eggheads everywhere. Nah, man, I like the life." His mouth twisted into a frown. "Won't be the same without you, though."

"Yeah," Sam muttered, his voice rough. "Don't, uh… don't get yourself killed, okay?"

"Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself. But you don't let those professors rip your brains out through your ears or something, all right? And call… if you need something. Call when you get there. I wanna know you're all right, Sam. Just… might not pick up is all." Sam knew what he meant. If John heard Dean talking to Sam so soon after their fight, it wouldn't be a fun time for Dean.

"I'll be discrete."

"You do that." Dean clapped him on the back. "Now come one, Sammy. There's a hotel just down the street that said they've got a free hot breakfast in the morning and I'm hankering for some pancakes!"

Sam's mouth quirked into a smile. "I'm gonna miss you, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, don't be such a fucking girl." Dean's shoulder nudged into his. "I'm gonna miss you, too, bitch."

"Jerk," Sam muttered, as they made their way to the hotel.

In the morning, he'd shared a hot breakfast of pancakes and crappy eggs with Dean before his brother saw him off at the bus stop. He'd stared out the window like the girl in every cliche romantic movie and watched as his brother stood there, hands in the pockets of his coat, watching until the bus turned and they lost sight of each other.

It'd been only a couple weeks since they'd seen each other, and only two days for the version of Sam that had come back from the future, but he missed his brother like air. He'd used a payphone to call Dean's cell, letting the phone ring until the voicemail picked up and then just listened to his brother's voice for a minute, the cocky tone of his voice soothing and aching at once.

He hadn't spoken a word but let the message drag on, the phone likely picking up ambient noise from the busy street. After two minutes, he hung up. Dean would get the message. He always did.

Sam exhaled a breath and threw the washcloth in the hamper, blinking into the mirror. He could see a vague outline of himself in the darkness, no true detail, but he imagined his eyes were red and his face still stained with tears.

A shower sounded good, to clear away the memories, and then he'd make his way to the bar. A couple good nights of hustling drunken idiots out of their cash at the pool table and he'd be set to stock up on some things. He told his brother he was going to be safe and he would, but he planned to make sure Dean was safe, too. That was the whole reason he'd come back and he didn't intend to wait to act just because he was earlier than expected. His brother was not going to suffer Hell, no matter what Heaven and Hell had to say about it, and that was final.