John's entrance made Bones whimper and draw back, ears pressed flat to his head . Sam curled his left hand into the dog's collar, his right into the scruff at Bones' neck. He'd always known John would find him. Two weeks- not bad, all things considered. His father had never taken that long to find a living, breathing human being before.

The first thing John did was draw Sam into a quick, hard hug. It would have been awkward- Sam had no intention of hugging back- but John stepped forward, forcing himself past Sam, into the house.

Dean followed in their father's wake, tired eyes sunk into his pale face. Dean closed the door quietly. He inspected Sam quickly, relief stark on his face. "Sammy," he breathed out. His spine straightened and tension visibly fell out of his shoulders.

Sam shoved aside his feelings of guilt; he'd done what he had to do. Two weeks he'd lived on his own, free from Dean's over-protective hovering, from John's orders, from any authority but his own. He'd been fine by himself; he'd cooked, cleaned and even learned how to work a washing machine. He'd taken care of Bones. He didn't need his family smothering him.

Bones strained against Sam's grip on his collar, tongue lolling out, tail wagging slowly back and forth. Sam let the dog go and watched, unsurprised, when Bones tried to jump all over Dean. Animals always loved his brother.

"Dean," John's voice snapped out. Dean pushed the dog down with gentle, clumsy hands and turned his attention to their father. "Get Sammy's stuff and put it in the car. We're going to be back on the road in ten minutes."

"What makes you think I'll go anywhere with you?" Sam asked petulantly. He watched, heart-sick, as Dean gathered up everything he'd brought with him to Flagstaff.

"I'm not in the mood for your lip, Sammy." John crossed his arms and glowered. "You want to explain just what you thought you were doing?"

Sam stuck out his jaw, stubborn. "Does it matter?" he demanded. "Is there any reason you'd accept?"

John looked down at his son evenly. "No," he admitted. "There isn't. But that doesn't mean you don't have to tell me exactly what you were thinking. You're not even a teenager, Sam. Even the government wouldn't let you out on your own."

"Oh, like you really care what the government thinks," Sam snarked, crossing his arms over his chest. "You left Dean an d me alone for that long when Dean was my age."

"Dean's different." John's eyes flickered to Dean for a moment, darkness clouding his eyes. It faded when John looked back at Sam. "He can take care of himself."

"And I can't?" Sam demanded, voice climbing with his anger. "What makes Dean so much better than me, huh?"

"Don't use that tone with me," John said quietly. "I never said Dean was better, but it's his job to take care of you. He's your big brother; he's responsible." John looked toward Dean, who was slowly zipping Sam's duffel, dug out from under the bed, closed. "Or so I thought."

Sam scoffed. "Dean couldn't be any more responsible if he tried."

John sighed. "Why did you leave, Sam? What are you doing here? This isn't your house- you can't be going to school.

"I said I was going on vacation," Sam muttered, looking away. "They gave me a homework assignment I'll have to hand in when we go back."

"Go back?" John actually seemed surprised. "We're not going back, Sam- you drew too much attention to us. Dean wasn't subtle- the whole neighbourhood knows you went missing." He sighed and ran a hand over the rough stubble on his face. "You need to realize there are consequences to your actions."

"Consequences?" Sam asked, incredulous. "How is that a consequence? You'd have just picked up and made us leave as soon as you got back from your stupid hunt!"

John breathed deep, obviously trying to calm himself. "I just want an answer, Sammy. Why did you run away?"

"Just answer him, Sam," Dean said quietly. He'd moved over toward the door while Sam and John were arguing and stood there looking resigned. "If you answer him, he'll let it go, and we'll leave."

"I don't want to leave, Dean!" Sam exploded, rounding on his brother. "I want to stay here and live a normal life, be a normal kid! That's why I left- because I know I'll never get that with you and Dad running around after every ghost or monster you hear about! I want to have a home!"

"You have a home," John said firmly. "We're your family. Your home is with us. If I hear anything about you planning to run off to live a normal life again, it'll be the last. Now. Get in the car."

Sam scowled at his father. "Fine." He shouldered past his brother on his way out the door, brushing deliberately hard against John's obedient, perfect son.

Dean grabbed his arm on the way out the door. Sam stared back, unphased, until Dean brought him in close in a tight huge. "I'm glad you're alright, Sammy," Dean whispered into Sam's hair.

The rush of guilt Sam had ignored when he first saw Dean rose up inside his chest. "I didn't mean to make you worry," Sam muttered back, grudgingly. He ducked his head and wriggled out of Dean's grasp. He went out to the Impala, Dean following close behind.

John dropped Sam and Dean off at a motel and left to "take care of loose ends". Sam felt a pang at the thought of Bones going to the pound but let it go. He'd always known he wouldn't be allowed to keep Bones for long.

Dean stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist. He dropped the towel and tugged his pants on and frowned. "You seen my shirt, Sammy?" he asked, head scanning the room.

"It's Sam," he said, nose buried in the book of obscure summoning rituals John was making him read. "And no, I haven't seen your shirt."

Dean frowned and turned back to the bathroom, muttering obscenities. Sam watched him lazily for a moment, and then frowned. "What happened to your back, Dean?"

Dean spun around, shock painted clear as day across his face. "Nothing," he said quickly. He crossed the room to his duffel and pulled on a new shirt, motions quick.

"I'm not kidding; your back is covered in bruises." Sam's brow furrowed in confusion. "They look old. Did you and Dad go on a hunt while you were looking for me?"

"Of course not, Sammy," Dean said. He sat himself on Dad's bed and turned the television on. "Jenny Jones' is doing a makeover episode, I wanna watch the hotties."

"Don't change the subject, Dean." Sam closed the book and clambered onto the other bed, trying to get a grip on Dean's shirt so he could see his brother's back. "Your whole back is yellow- it looks like you were thrown into a wall by a poltergeist!"

"I said it's nothing, S am." Dean shoved Sam's hands off of him and twisted away, scowling. "I'm fine."

"If you were fine you wouldn't be covered in bruises," Sam pointed out archly. He crossed his arms and leveled a stare at his brother.

Dean sighed. "It's no big deal, Sam."

"If it weren't a big deal you'd have told me what happened."

Dean's face was a carefully constructed wall of blankness. "He didn't mean any harm," he said finally, reluctantly.

"He- you mean Dad?" Sam asked, incredulous. "Dad did this to you? When? Why?"

"It doesn't matter," Dean brushed it off, hand cutting through the air. "He was angry, he reacted. It was my fault, I should have- never mind. Sammy, it doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters, Dean!" Sam cried. "If Dad's shoving you around hard enough to bruise, that matters!"

Dean sighed. "I was out of line, Sam. End of story."

"It's so typical for you to defend him," Sam said. Anger at his brother burst to life in his chest and clouded his vision. "He could stick you with a knife and you'd still be making excuses. That's why I can't stand this family, it's like I'm living with a fanatic and you're his eager follower! I'm sorry, but I didn't drink the Kool-Aid and I don't want to be a part of this life."

Dean's eyes stayed trained on the television. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he said quietly. "Just- please don't run away again. Even if you're on your own, you won't be able to live the life you want until you're an adult. So just- just wait, okay? It'll get better."

"This isn't because of hormones," Sam snapped out. He shoved himself back on the pillows next to Dean. They sat in silence and watched a woman- obviously a fan of plastic surgery- confront a man the captions helpfully informed them was a bully from her high school. "I hate him."

Dean's eyes were closed when Sam looked over. "I know, Sam. He does his best."

"That doesn't make me hate him any less."

"He loves you."

"Well, he has a funny way of showing it then. Why can't we just- stay put, Dean? Make real friends? Even Dad has Pastor Jim and Caleb."

"They know the truth, Sammy. That's why Dad trusts them."

"Whatever, Dean." Sam turned over on his side, away from his brother.

Dean was quiet. Then, "I love you too, you know, Sammy."

Sam closed his eyes. "I know, Dean. But that doesn't help anything."