Basically, this sprouted from the desire to write a Sam and Dean broment. And I really wanted to write Sam when he was, like, sixteen, as we only ever see him as a kid or in his younger teens. So, enjoy! And remember: If you give me a prompt, I will probably write a drabble about it-so don't be shy.

"Sam Winchester! Just the guy I wanted to talk to!"

Sam couldn't help but be surprised at Mr. Hawke's greeting. "Um…Hi," he said lamely.

Mr. Hawke studied him, an amused look on his face. As if he could read Sam's mind, he said, "Don't worry. That's not what this is about."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. After the fight he'd gotten into last week, it was quite a shock to have a teacher want to talk to him for a reason other than to express anger or pity. Most of them were of the opinion that his outburst was the result of a rocky, difficult childhood. The few exceptions were of the opinion that he was acting out in a desperate attempt to gain attention. Sam was of the opinion that it was because of a cocky arrogant dick, the size of whose mouth was rivaled only by his ego.

"Well, what is it about, Mr. Hawke?"

"I know you never stay in one place long…"

Sam sighed. Here we go.

"…and so, considering that, your test scores are all the more remarkable."

Sam blinked, not sure he'd heard correctly. "What?"

"The practice ACT I gave you when you first came. I scored it and-pardon my French, but damn. You have quite the mind, young Winchester."

Sam smiled. "I've always like to think so."

"What are you doing once you're out of school?"

Sam's smiled wavered a little. "Well, I want to go to school, maybe Stanford or Harvard Law. I wanna be a lawyer. But my dad wants me to go into the family business, so if that's gonna happen I gotta make I happen on my own. That would probably require me to get a full scholarship which, considering that I move around constantly and it's hard to get a full credit ever, I'm not sure how realistic that is."

Mr. Hawke nodded sympathetically. "Just work hard, Sam. You're a smart kid-Maybe you don't always make the smartest decisions, but who hasn't wanted to just punch an idiot in the face once in a while? I had the perfect opportunity once, and let it slip. Regret it to this day." He shook his head with a small smile. "But you came here for something. What's up?"

"I just wanted to say thanks. For the book suggestion. I read it."

"And?"

"He reminds me a lot of my dad."

"Who, Ishmael?"

"No. Ahab," Sam replied, putting the book on Mr. Hawke's desk. "He's determined to get his white whale, and I'm one of the poor sailors stuck on the ship with nowhere to run."

Mr. Hawke leaned forward. "Then swim," he said.

Sam chuckled, then heaved a sigh. "I also came to say bye. We're leaving tomorrow."

Mr. Hawke raised an eyebrow. "That soon? I'm sad to hear that, Sam. You're one of the best students I've had, even though I only taught you for a few weeks. By the way, what does your father do?"

"He's a mechanic."

XXX

Sam slammed the door and stomped into the motel room, throwing his backpack down. Dean was sitting on the living room couch, a beer in hand, watching some trashy medical soap.

"Hey, Sammy," he called, raising his beer in greeting. He took a drink. "What are you so pissed about?"

"I hate it. I hate it, Dean. The constant moving, Dad's-Dad's obsession with this thing. I'm sick of it. I just want to have a normal life! Is that too much to ask?" He threw himself on the couch next to Dean. Dean offered him the beer. Sam pushed it away. Dean shrugged and took a drink himself.

"Ya know what? Yeah, Sammy. It is too much to ask. Because if we don't take care of the crap on this floating chunk of rock we call home, then who will? If we're not out there killing monsters and putting ghosts down, who will be? Like it or not, you and I are never-ever- going to be able to live normal lives. Sure, you can try to settle down, and then one of the monsters will hit too close to home and you'll be dragged right back into the real world-the world where witches and monsters and ghosts are out there and dangerous and putting everything good in this world-as little as there seems to be sometimes-in jeopardy. You need to stop running from this life, Sam. At some point, it's going to come bite you in the ass, so either you can let it creep up and possibly be the end of you, or you can charge it head on and strike first."

Sam snorted. "That's the beer talking."

Dean punched him in the arm. "Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam answered, rubbing at his shoulder. "You know what? I think I'll try that beer now." He took it from Dean and took a sip. He made a face and nearly spat out the vile liquid. "That's disgusting. I don't see how you drink that."

"Oh, you just wait. You'll love it soon enough."

Sam shook his head. "I'm not so sure."

"Well, I am. Now, shut up. I'm trying to watch Doctor Sexy."

Sam smiled. He sure as hell didn't want to live this life forever.

But he didn't really want to leave it, either.