Chapter 3

Sam remembered nothing of the walk over to the library. He'd had no real destination in mind, just a need to put as much distance between himself and the figurative door, which had been shut behind him, as soon as possible.

He stared at the familiar carved doors and worn red brick walls, but didn't feel the usual thrill at knowing inside he would be able to find something interesting to stimulate his mind, or factoids he knew nothing about, or even be able to submerge himself in research for a school report. Today he felt none of that. Only numbness. It was as if everything around him were no longer real, only a passing picture meant to be glimpsed then ignored.

He wiped at his face with his sleeve, the hardened crust from previous swipes loosening up as he added more moisture and contents to the mess.

He needed to calm down, to hide everything inside. If he didn't, someone would notice him eventually and start asking questions. Questions were bad. He had to behave as if this were one of Dean's cons, like back when they got grilled by some adult while they waited for their father who was late coming back from a hunt but the rent or payment for the motel room was due. He needed to prep a mask he could wear out in public, or think of himself as being in a play, like the one he'd been in last year, one where everything with the Winchesters was peachy as pie.

Sam took several deep breaths and tried to center himself. When he thought he might be ready, he rushed up the library steps before he could think to chicken out. There was information he needed, plans he had to make, and this was the best place he knew of to get the information to make them.

Mrs. Simpson mercifully wasn't at the front desk so Sam was able to duck into the boys' restroom unseen. He checked all the stalls to make sure the place was empty before he set his bag up by the sink. Taking off his outer shirt while avoiding looking at himself in the mirror, he turned on the water at the sink and splashed water on his face. The cool feel of the liquid soaked into him, helping his heart slow a little more. He grabbed his shirt and dried his face, then finger combed his hair, before daring to peek at himself in the mirror. His eyes were a little puffy, but overall he looked normal. Normal – what exactly was that? Had he ever really known any such thing?

He shook his head, bitterness trying to rise inside him and knowing he had no time for it. He shoved his shirt into the bag, blindly searching for the money Dean said he put in there. He needed to know where he stood, know what he could or couldn't do, and once he knew the parameters, he needed to make a plan.

The wad surprised him by its thickness even before he pulled it out. How much had his brother given him? The bills were mostly tens and twenties, but they added up fast. Sam found his breath coming in and out in a rush as he realized he had over two thousand dollars in small bills. Dean had given him everything!

It was the emergency cash he kept, in case things went bad and they had to bail. Sam knew their father had his own stash, but this one Dean had been keeping and adding to here and there just in case. It had also given them somewhere to get a little money to occasionally go do something fun. And now Sam had all of it.

Tears tried to gather in his eyes again as he bunched the money in his fists. He fought to force them back, this not being the time or place. He checked his face in the mirror again, and satisfied with what he saw, put the money away and picked up his bag.

Taking a deep breath, he plastered a small smile on his face and left the restroom.

"Oh, hi there, Sam. I didn't think I'd be seeing you today." Mrs. Simpson was back at her usual post.

"My brother's covering for me. I forgot some stuff I needed to look up for tomorrow." It still amazed him how easily he could lie when he needed to. He didn't like it, avoided it whenever he could, but sometimes it was just the course of least resistance. The more of a stranger the person or the tighter the situation, the easier it got. But never to Dean or his father, it wasn't right. Not that he had to worry anymore on that account.

"Well, let me know if you need any help, all right?"

"Thanks, Mrs. Simpson." He tried to act nonchalant as he went on his way, feeling anything but.

Though a small town in what some would consider the middle of nowhere, the place was more progressive than most. Not only was the library loan program working and heavily encouraged, so Sam could pretty much borrow anything from other libraries in the state and beyond, but they had public Internet service terminals. And it was from these he was hoping to get all the information he would need.

As he passed the card catalog, he grabbed several cut pieces of paper and a small pencil. Then he made his way to an empty half cubicle and got to work.

Stanford's website was the first place he stopped at, checking out information on registration, admissions, housing, all the things which he was sure would be coming in a packet he would now never receive. His hand curled into a fist, his nails digging painfully into his palm. He shouldn't have to be doing this. Bitterness rose again like bile and he struggled to hold his emotions in check. He only had a couple of hours before the library closed, he couldn't afford to waste them.

Scrunching forward and staring only at the screen, Sam went back to work.

"Do you need a ride, Sam? It's kind of late to be walking home."

Mrs. Simpson locked the library door and moved to join him at the sidewalk, a questioning look on her face.

"No, thanks. My brother's on his way. He's just running a little late." He gave her the best smile he could muster, feeling totally drained and numb.

It must not have been too convincing as he could see a small frown forming on her face. "Sam, are you all right?"

He took a deep breath and shoved his mask firmly in place. "Didn't sleep well last night, crazy neighbor's dog was barking like mad. Should have taken a nap before coming over."

He saw her worry easy a little. "A good night's sleep should fix you up then. Hopefully no more barking dog?"

"I don't think it'll be a problem tonight, ma'am."

She gave him a small smile. "Good night then. Take care."

Sam watched her go to her car and stayed put until it disappeared from sight. Only then did he pull out the piece of paper where he had written the name of a cheap motel off of the interstate on the outskirts of town.

Hands shoved deep in his pockets, he set off toward his destination.

Room 3D was dingy and not well kept, but it had a bed, electricity, and a working bathroom. He would need it too. The open leer coming from the night desk clerk had left him feeling dirty. Only the excuse his father was waiting for him outside, kept the man at bay. But first things first.

Sam dropped his bag on the bed to take inventory. With Dean's frenzied packing, there was no telling what he might have shoved into the thing or left him without. Until he could get hold of Mr. Davis at the High School and get a list of all the places he'd applied at for financial aid and how to contact them, and he found an address they could mail things to, his funds would be very limited. If he could speed things up, he would begin school in the summer quarter in June and hopefully get at least dorm housing and the use of the subsidized cafeteria. But until then he would have to make do with little to nothing, getting a part time job and scraping what he could together until he could get himself in there. A fake address or a PO Box, some hole in the wall to sleep and keep out the weather, use of the local YMCA to wash, and he should be able to survive. If there was one thing Winchesters knew how to do was survive. Everything else was…optional…

He stared for a moment at the worn bed. This could very well be the last time he got to use one in a while. And though the room was probably an extravagance he could ill afford, it would keep him from getting picked up by the well meaning cops from town for vagrancy tonight and getting dragged back home. He would rather do without at some point down the road than go there. It would be like having failed before he ever even got started.

As he removed the contents of the bag, Sam was surprised at Dean's thoroughness, especially when he'd had so little time. A couple of pairs of jeans, three t-shirts, two button shirts, socks, his sneakers, and four pairs of underwear. The sheathed knife was a welcomed if sour find -- his father's gift to him, not two weeks before, for his eighteenth birthday. A sign as big as life as to what he expected his son to do after graduation.

Sam set the knife to the side, pushing the memories and sharp feelings away with it. There was one more thing in the bag, laying flat against the bottom. He leaned forward to pick it up.

His gasp echoed in the room as he looked at what he had. It was a picture of his Mom and Dad, the one they kept in the living room. The one Dad set out for them to see no matter where they went or how short or long they stayed there. Was Dean out of his mind? Their father would go ballistic when he found it missing! He'd make Dean do push-ups till his arms fell off. His brother shouldn't have given him this.

Even as he thought it, his heart was glad for the deed anyway. He caressed his Mother's face as he had for years whenever he walked past the picture. That sad yearning to meet her to know her thrummed as it always did when he thought of her – the woman who gave him life, whom Dean worshiped, and for whom the finding of her killer had become the family crusade. But no more, not for him. He was done.

His throat tightened.

Suddenly he became aware of the quiet around him. Of the fact he was alone. Though he'd been in hundreds of motels just like this one, it felt nothing like any of the ones before. Dean wouldn't be popping in any minute with some smartass comment or joke. There would be no teasing bouts, no more impromptu wrestling matches, no more competitions, no more lessons, no more nothing.

His family was gone.

Warm tears landed on his Mother's smiling face and ran down the glass unnoticed.

Sam hugged the picture to his chest and fell back onto the bed, slowly curling up into a tight, sobbing ball.