Sam and Dean pushed into the motel room in a fit of laughter, practically falling over each other to get into the room. It was late, but their dad had been gone for three days and they had gotten completely bored roaming around the room.

It had been a little under two weeks since their encounter in the bleachers – there was three days left for him to confirm his entry into Stanford, and Sam hadn't said anything to their dad.

It took them both a minute to realize that the lights were on.

"Where have you boys been?"

Sam's laughter died in his throat as he looked up into the very pissed off eyes of John Winchester. Dean straightened, but Sam remained hunched over with his hands on his knees.

"We were just out for supper, dad." Dean tried.

"It's eleven thirty, Dean. You know the rules. If you leave, you are back in this room by dark."

"Yes, sir."

Sam winced. It had been his idea to stay out, thinking that John wouldn't be home for at least another night. He straightened. "It's not Dean's fault, dad."

John's eyes averted from Dean's and drilled into his younger son's. "You want this discussion on you right now, Sam?"

Sam glanced over at Dean and then back at their father. "It's not like Dean and I don't know what we're doing, dad. You should be able to trust us by now."

"Trust you?" Sam was about to answer when John reached behind him and pulled out an envelope from his back pocket. He tossed it carelessly towards Sam. "Trust you?" He repeated.

Sam reached down to pick up the paper that had fallen near his feet, dreading looking at it because he already knew what it was. "How did you get this?" He straightened and flipped the paper over to see the bold lettered Stanford mocking him.

"It's not important how I got it, Sam." He folded his arms. "You're not going."

Sam's heated eyes snapped over to their father. "You can't order me not to go."

John took a threatening step forward. "You're god damn right I can! You're my son and I'm telling you that you're not going."

Sam was about to step forward when Dean grabbed his arm and yanked him back. Both Sam and John's eyes turned towards Dean, who hadn't stepped between them in a long time. He stepped in front of Sam now.

"I'm sorry, dad, but this isn't something that you can stop."

"So you did know, I figured as much. Why didn't you tell me, Dean?"

Sam winced at the tone. It wasn't anger, oh no, something much worse, it was disappointment. The cringing indication that Dean had let their father down.

Dean didn't even hesitate. "It wasn't mine to tell."

John's eyes narrowed and Sam knew that he had to stop things. He couldn't let this be about John and Dean, not this time. He stepped beside Dean, their shoulders ghosting each other. "How do you plan on stopping me, dad? You gonna chain me to the walls?"

John's jaw ticked. "If I have to."

"You son of a bitch."

"Sam." Dean's voice was barely audible over the pounding of blood through Sam's mind.

"You can't keep me here forever! I'm not just some kid anymore that needs to be taken care of."

"Watch your mouth, Sam."

"Oh but wait," Sam mocked. "It was never you taking care of me in the first place, was it dad? So why should you have a say in anything that I do?"

"Sam." Dean barked out his name so strongly that Sam actually flinched, because yeah it was the truth. Dean had been more of a father to Sam then John had ever been.

His nostrils flared and he griped the letter in his hand. He waited for their dad to say something – anything really to deflect what his youngest son had just said.

Nothing came. Really there was nothing he could say because he knew just how true it was. Sam bit his bottom lip and turned on his heels, ripping the door open he took off down the street.

Shaking with the fury that had been barely contained, Sam kicked at a glass bottle that had been discarded on the ground. It flew into a brick wall and shattered – ironic considering that's how he felt at that moment.

He gritted his teeth and tightened his hands into fists, swinging out at the same wall. It connected with a sickeningly dull smack and Sam hissed out through his teeth. His breath heaving out in frustrated and painful huffs. Looking down he took in the deep scraps along his knuckles where he could see the blood already pooling around the skin and dropped his hands back to his sides.

He let his shoulders drop and turned around to lean against the wall. He could feel the pain of the growing headache behind his eyes, the burning and dull throb of his knuckles and frantic beating of his heart as he clamed down.

He let his body slide down the wall until he hit the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest in a defensive move that he hadn't made in years.

He was still shaking when Dean found in the same position. He tucked his hands in his pockets and kept his back to Sam, facing the street. They stayed like that for a few minutes, just watching the cars on the highway pass.

"Is this how it's always gonna be, Sammy?" He was still watching traffic. "Things get a little rough, a little tense and you bolt?"

Sam sighed and scrubbed his hands over his eyes. "Look, Dean, this is just one more reason that I need to leave. You think I don't know what happens when I take off?" He smacked the back of his head against the brick wall. "That you take all the heat that was directed at me? I do know, and I want it to stop, Dean, I do."

Dean turned. "Do you honestly think that by leaving you'll be stopping all of it?"

"I'll be stopping the part that's my fault. "Sam grinned. "And come on, let's face it, all of it's my fault."

"It's not all your fault, Sam. It's just that you don't try very hard."

Sam looked up at Dean with hooded eyes. "Why do I always have to be the one to try, Dean?"

Dean's gaze didn't waver. "Because I asked you to – and that should be enough."

Sam dropped his eyes, knowing that Dean didn't ask him for much. He nodded and Dean offered a hand. Sam took it and Dean hauled him back onto his feet. He put a hand on Sam's neck and rubbed his jaw with his thumb. "We're gonna make this work, Sammy."

He gripped the back of Sam's neck and pulled them flush. "Trust me." He brought their lips together in a chaste kiss before dropping his forehead onto Sam's. "Come on." He wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders and started them back towards the motel room.

When they got back in the room John was throwing the rest of their clothes into their bags. Dean stepped in first.

"What's going on?"

Without pausing John answered. "Just got a call, there's a spirit over in Hartford. We're leaving tonight."

"Hartford?" Sam glanced at Dean, all his calm suddenly leaving his body. "As in Connecticut?"

"I'm pretty sure you learnt your geography before you started school, Sam." John shrugged it off – as if he didn't know.

Sam tensed. "You've gotta be kidding me. You get a job out of the blue, right after you learn that I'm planning on going to school in Palo Alto – less than five hours from where we are now – all the way across the country?"

John finally stopped and looked over at them. "That's right. Now grab your bags, we're leaving."

Sam closed his eyes. "You're right, I'm leaving." He grabbed his bag and turned back towards the door.

"Sam, wait a second." Dean grabbed Sam's arm.

"No, Dean. I came back to talk, but his mind is already made up. Just like always." He looked down at his arm where Dean still restrained him. "You have to let me go, Dean."

Dean licked his lips. "I don't want to."

Sam's lips tilted a fraction. "We talked about this already. You know it has to be like this."

"Not like this."

Sam's shoulders dropped. "Please, Dean."

Dean's fingers tightened for a second before he let Sam's arm slip through his fingers. Sam took a step back.

John eyes narrowed. "If you step out that door, Samuel Winchester, you don't come back."

"Dad!" Dean's eyes whipped frantically towards Sam.

"I mean it."

"Stop!" Dean threw his arms out. "Everybody just stop."

Sam's nostrils flared. "I have stopped it, Dean." He grabbed one of Dean's arms and yanked him into a hug. "I love you." He whispered into Dean's neck, inhaling his brother's musky scent and imprinting it into his memory. He pressed his lips to Dean's neck.

"Goodbye." He whispered before stepping out the door, never once looking back.